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Toni Clingstone's 
Letteivs 

To the Editor 


BY 

BENJ. F. COBB, 

Illustrated by 

EL/LA BRISON. 


CHICAGO. 

The Kadfofu Review Co. 
Publishers, 

1900 . 

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Library of Congrese 

Two CoPtES Received 

NOV 14 1900 

Copyright entry 

No £6 1^4 

SECOND COPY 

Oelivored to 

ORDER DIVISION 

NOV 16 1900 ^ 








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Copyrighted, 1900, by Benjamih F. Cobb. 




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TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


LETTER NUMBER ONE. 

Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

I received your letter asking when I was coming 
to Chicago, and you will no doubt be surprised when 
I tell you that I have already made my trip to your 
city and returned without calling on you. Perhaps 
this needs some explanation, but whether it does or 
not I am mighty glad to get back to the Corners and 
find that I am all here. I would not have the board 
of strategy down at the store know what I went 
through for the best suit of clothes on Clark street. 
You see it was this way: I decided to give you a 
little surprise party, and therefore concluded not to 
let you know of my anticipated visit. Having never 
been to Chicago before, pointers were necessary, and 
listening to James Henry Burdette’s talk had posted 
me quite well. James Henry used to live in Chicago 
and knows a lot about it. No one but my own people 


8 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


knew of my trip, for which many prayers of thanks 
have been breathed since by yours truly. 

Arriving in Chicago in the evening, a great mistake 
of mine, by the way, I walked out of the Union depot 
with the crowd, thinking that as soon as the passen- 
gers scattered a little I could get to see where the 
best road to travel was, but, bless you, they did not 
seem to scatter, and the further we went the more 
mixed the crowd seemed to get. Looking up one 
street a big bridge loomed up and looked uninviting, 
so, turning in the opposite direction and walking 
awhile, I decided to inquire for some place where 
lodging could be had. The fellow questioned showed 
me a place which he said was first-class, and intro- 
duced me to the man in charge. The fellow in charge 
was not one of the kind of a man who would be 
taken for a Sunday school teacher, but perhaps he 
was all right in that place. He was a kind of flashily 
dressed fellow, with his plaid trousers and velvet 
vest, but he did not wear any coat about the house 
and wore his sleeves rolled back sort of careless like. 
But my, he was smart. A drunken fellow came in and 
commenced to make a row, and Mike, that was his 
name, just collared him and threw him out head first. 
Some one told me on the quiet that Mike was the 
bouncer for the house, but what he meant by that was 
more than I knew. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


9 


Afteir the affair with the drunk Mike and I got to 
be good friends, and when I asked him where I was to 
sleep he told me to wait until he got off from watch 
at ten o’clock and we would go out and see Chicago 
by the electric bulb. Secretly I was pleased. I did 
not understand half he said, and how to connect 
Chicago and the electric bulb was too deep for me, 
but I felt honored that a man who had lived in 
Chicago for years and who could call all the aldermen 
by their front names should take pains to show me 
around. A little after ten o’clock we started. We 
went over the bridge on one of those electric cars, 
and after walking a couple of blocks we came to where 
Mike said a friend of his. Jack Somebody, ran an 
opera. Mike had left his money at home, and as he 
did not see his friend Jack around anywhere, he told 
me to pay for the tickets, which I did, and we went in. 

The opera is a funny thing, it seems to me, and 
there were lots more men than ladies at the show, 
and I have come to the opinion that Deacon Pilgrim 
is about right when he says it is no fit place for people 
who care to be good. Some of these opera girls did 
not talk real nice. Mike wanted me to go behind the 
scenes and be introduced to a friend of his who did 
some of the high kicking, but I put my foot down 
against going into such company. When we left the 
opera house the boy from the Corners was ready to 


10 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


go to bed, but Mike said he wanted to walk around a 
little first, so we went out and walked. We had not 
been out long before we met some lady friends of 
Mike’s, and they wanted us to go into some place 
where they were acquainted and get some beer. They 
were right jolly girls, and we had a fine time telling 
conundrums and stories, etc. They asked me all 
about the Corners, and were wonderfully pleased 
when I invited them out to see us. I don’t think I 
ever fell in with nicer people, and the strange thing 
about it all was they would not let me pay a cent. 
Mike had borrowed some money of a friend of his 
who he said was a ^'fly cop,” and the young ladies 
seemed to have plenty of money also. As we were 
right in the height of fun a brother of one of the 
young ladies came in and made her go home, and of 
course the other one had to go, too. I did not like 
the looks of the brother, but he was her brother all 
right, for she got right up and left as soon as he 
said so. 

It must have been about two o’clock in the morn- 
ing when we parted with the young ladies, and Mike 
was ready to go home. I was sharp enough not to 
drink much beer, and was all right when we reached 
the hotel. There was another man in charge then, 
and he asked me to pay for my bed, which I had not 
done before. I reached for my purse, but it was 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


11 


gone ; then I put my hand on my watch pocket, and 
my watch was gone. To make a long story short, 
I was cleaned out as clean from valuables as though 
I had been through old Jim Barlow’s threshing ma- 
chine. Well, perhaps I was not wild. I hollered 
^‘Police” and “Murder,” and just then somebody gave 
me a blow under the ear, and when I came to, Mike 
was sponging me off with cold water. I wanted to 
report my loss to the police at once, but Mike told 
me not to. He said I was robbed when I was on the 
car coming home, and that I would only be laughed 
at if I reported it at the police station. I did not go 
to bed at all, for it was nearly morning when I came 
to myself, and I had no money for a bed. Say, but 
that fellow Mike is all right. He paid for my break- 
fast in the morning and bought me a ticket for the 
Corners, and told me not to mind repaying him. He 
felt awful bad for me, Mike did. 




LETTER NUMBER TWO. 


Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

Every day I 'have had it in my mind to write to 
you, for I had so much to say that I did not want to 
forget to tell you. Dad says he is my regulator, and 
so far he has held me back. 

The fact is, Mr. Editor, I am in love. There, I have 
said it, and I mean it. It is just a case of love at first 
sight, and Dad says I have not been so used up before 
since I had the scarlet fever when I was just a kid. 

I will tell you about her. She is the dearest, sweet- 
est little bundle of sweetness that ever you heard of. 
Say, I never knew there were such nice girls. Dad 
says that I may outlive this, but that I have a bad 
case. I guess he is making fun of me, but he will find 
out that I am in dead earnest. 

This girl of mine is a peach! I have got to tell 
someone about her, and I might as well write it to 
you. You see it was this way. Dad and I were out 
to the exposition at Omaha, and when we came home 
we found ourselves on the same car with one of our 
competitors who has a lumber yard in the next town, 
Mr. Schmidt by name, and it was his daughter Louisa 


14 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


that will be from this out my guiding star. I never 
felt ungrateful to Dad in my life, but I was a little 
put out when I realized that Mr. Schmidt and Dad 
were not on speaking terms, but what does love care 
for a little thing like that. Ma asked me what the girl 
had on, but bless you, I could not have told to save 
me. I do know she was tall and graceful, with color 
in her cheeks, and her sweet face well set off by her 
hazel eyes, and a mouth that for beauty could not be 
surpassed. All these things are indelibly impressed 
on my mind. Her mouth, well, perhaps I will tell you 
more of its sweetness later on. 

Dad tried to laugh at me at first, but he soon found 
out that it was no laughing matter with me. Do you 
know I could not keep my eyes off that girl, and I 
told Dad all about my plans, for every time I looked 
at her the plans would make themselves. As soon as 
we are married and get back from our wedding trip, 
and I think I will go to Omaha for that trip, I will 
have an understanding between my father-in-law and 
Dad, so there will be no more cutting prices at the 
lumber yards. I feel that I ought to do this for them 
as long as I am to have so much happiness myself. 
You see, she is an only daughter and I am an only 
son, so it stands to reason that we will both fall heir 
to lumber yards some day, and when we do I shall 
hire a man to run the Schmidt yard until one of our 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 15 

boys gets big enough to walk in the footsteps of his 
father. 

Say, but she is a sweet one. We did not get to 
Hardacre until about nine o^clock that morning, and 
as Louisa and her father got out at the station before 
we reached ours I heard her say to her father, in her 
sweet, musical voice: “I wonder who that jay is that 
has been ogling me all the morning?’’ I looked 
around to see whom she meant, and it was lucky for 
the jay that I didn’t see him. Say, I would fight for 
that girl. I was telling Dad this morning that it was 
a little over a month since I first met my future wife. 
“Yes,” he says, “and you have got her married and 
have raised children big enough to go into the lumber 
business, in your mind. Have you waked up to the 
fact that you never have even spoken to the girl yet, 
and that her affections are most likely somewhere 
else? You don’t take after your Dad, I can tell you 
that.” And with this he left me and went out into 
the yard to sell a man some shingles. Thinking about 
what Dad said just made the perspiration stand out 
all over me. Say, were you ever in love? If you 
were, how did you manage to let the girl know about 
it? 


LETTER NUMBER THREE. 


Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

I begin to think that the hours I spend in writing 
to you are the only ones in my life that there is any 
pleasure in, for I feel that in you I have a warm and 
sympathetic friend that I can open my heart to, and 
that by you I am understood. I also feel that through 
the columns of your paper I can reach thousands of 
my fellow men, some of whom will give me a kind 
thought in my troubles, and others will learn by my 
reverses how to do better by themselves. Of course, 
occasionally a careless person will read my letters to 
you, and perhaps laugh at what he will call my folly, 
but in years to come, when trials come to him, he will 
remember my words, and will be forced to breathe 
that sympathetic sentence : “Poor Tom Clingstone.” 

You have no doubt come to the conclusion by this 
time that my spirits are not so buoyant as they were 
when I wrote you last, and you have judged rightly, 
for since writing my last I have passed through a 
fearful ordeal. I might as well tell you the whole 
story and commence where I left off in my last letter. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


17 


and that if I remember right was where father took 
me to task for being such a weak-hearted lover. I 
sort of looked upon Louisa Schmidt as mine by right, 
but by what right I could not have told you unless 
by right of discovery, as a rival in the case had never 
entered my head. 

After thinking for awhile over what Dad said to me, 
I determined to go and declare myself at once, and as 
soon as I had decided to do this, I pictured the thing 
done, and I laughed as I thought how surprised Dad 
would look when some day in the near future I 
brought Louisa over to Hardacre and said: “Dad, 
behold your daughter that is to be!’’ The thought 
was so comforting and pleasing that I sat dreaming 
about it until it was too late to go over to Norton that 
nlay. Norton is where Schmidt’s lumber yard is lo- 
cated, and where Louisa lives. 

The next day, about two o’clock in the afternoon, 
I hitched up Dad’s old sorrel mare, and drove eight 
miles over to Norton. I think this was the pleasantest 
ride I ever took. I felt that I was going to see the 
girl I loved, and that in some way I would find her 
in some picturesque attitude, and that she would be 
waiting for me. In imagination I went through the 
first meeting, my self-introduction, her quick percep- 
tion of my love and all. I could even feel the touch 
of her lips, hear the sweet tone of her musical voice. 


18 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


and as I took her hand hear her say: “We were in- 
tended for each other.” 

I day-dreamed for two hours, while the sorrel mare 
took her time on the journey to Norton, and when 
the spire of the little Baptist church at Norton came 
before my vision I waked up to the fact that I had 
work to do. I drove past Mr. Schmidt’s lumber yard 
and up to the livery stable, and feeling the importance 
of my mission, ordered my horse put up and fed. I 
got the stable boy to brush me off, and after wiping 
my shoes off with an extra handkerchief that I had 
brought along for the purpose, I started over towards 
Schmidt’s lumber yard and the house where dwelt the 
object of my visit and my affection. 

At last I had reached the house, and, standing be- 
fore it on the opposite side of the street, what an un- 
utterable fountain of love welled up in my breast. I 
was before the very house where lived the woman of 
all others to me, my Louisa. As I walked across the 
street I pictured myself as I knew I must look, and 
wondered if my tie was on straight, and I also won- 
dered what I ought to do with my hands, and then I 
wondered what I would do with my feet when I 
stopped walking. Say, but there is something funny 
about being in love, isn’t there? 

Just at this time I espied something wallowing in 
the front yard, and it struck me that the pigs had 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


19 


gotten in among Louisa’s flower beds, and that I 
could do her a service, and at the same time make a 
point for an introduction. They were not pigs, how- 
ever, but a couple of children who appeared to be 
about three years old, and the dirtiest little red-headed 
imps of Satan I ever saw. They were digging in the 
soft dirt of a flower bed, and as I stepped up to the 
fence to get a better view of them they commenced 
to fight over the possession of a small shovel. 

They seemed to be about the same size, and for a 
moment I enjoyed the fight. They were both so ugly 
that I took no sides, and did not care a rap which 
whipped. As they warmed up to the fray, they com- 
menced to scream, and there was no discounting 
those lungs; they were all right. Those screams 
penetrated every house in the village; people in the 
houses opposite opened the doors and threw up their 
windows, and all thoughts of Louisa were for the 
moment driven from my head, but I was brought back 
to a realizing sense of my mission, for the door of the 
Schmidt residence opened and the object of my affec- 
tion stood before me. But, oh how different from 
what I had pictured. She was not dressed any too 
neatly, and the little red-headed, six-months’ old child 
she had in her arms did not improve her appearance in 
my mind. 

Louisa spoke to me, but I must say the tone or 


20 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


words were not to my liking. It seems she imagined 
that I was the cause of the screams that came from 
the red-headed couplet, and my blood almost froze 
in my veins as she cried out, in a voice anything but 
musical: ^What do you mean, you ugly-looking 
brute, by scaring my children in that way,’’ and then 
as she discovered that the kids were not scared, but 
fighting, she stamped her foot and yelled: '‘Henry 
George, stop fighting; Grover Cleveland, let your 
brother alone, and both of you come into the house 
this minute !” 

Surprises were coming so fast that I could hardly 
get my breath, and to cap it all another shock of red 
hair appeared on the scene, and under it was the 
freckled face of the big, awkward, double-fisted Ger- 
man that I remembered as having had pointed out 
to me three years before as Schmidt’s yardman or 
teamster. The whole truth had dawned upon me, 
and as I walked, or, rather staggered away, I heard 
him say^ in his broken English: "Vot’s de matter, 
my tear, did dot drunken chap vant to steal some ov 
our papies?” 

Mother says that "man proposes and God dis- 
poses,” and that I should be resigned, but how can a 
fellow resign when he never got any nearer election 
than I did? 


LETTER NUMBER FOUR. 


Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

Dad says that I am the greatest chap for ''chasing 
butterflies” that there is in these parts, and then he 
commences to tell me of the different things I have 
been carried away with, and he makes me feel so bad 
that I just go off by myself and try to forget that he 
is unjust to me. 

You see Dad is so practical that he cannot under- 
stand me. Ma says I take more after her people, who 
were literary and artists to a great extent. Ma says 
she had a granduncle once who was a great elocu- 
tionist and could recite the whole of "The Boy Stood 
on the Burning Deck,” when he was only four years 
old. I think it great to have such ancestry, and told 
Dad so. He laughed and then asked Ma if that 
granduncle’s name was not Lord Nelson Washington 
Brown, and Ma said "of course it was, father, you 
know it as well as I do.” When Ma wants to impress 
Dad with her superiority she always calls him father. 
Ma was looking pretty severe, but Dad put on that 
2 X 12 smile of his and said he had never seen Lord 
Nelson Washington Brown mentioned in history. 


22 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


Then Ma colored up and went out of the room. Dad 
is an awful hector, and he doesn’t seem to care who he 
hectors, either. 

I suppose you would like to know how I got over 
the shock I received at Norton last month when I 
found that Louisa was married to the big Dutchman. 
To tell the truth I hardly know how I got home, the 
shock was so great. It was long after dark when I 
arrived at the Corners, and the folks had all gone to 
bed. I put the old sorrel mare in the stable, and 
then, not feeling that I should allow myself the com- 
forts of a bed after making such a “jack” of myself, 
I crawled up in the loft and slept in the hay. The next 
morning I went in to breakfast after Dad had gone 
to the lumber yard &nd I told Ma all about it. She 
did not laugh at me, but tried to make me feel that 
all was for the best and that I would live to see the 
day that I would bless the Dutchman for getting 
ahead of me. I cannot feel as Ma does, however, and 
I am sure now that I shall never marry. 

For a few days, when I thought of Louisa my 
courage would seem to go clear down into my boots 
and I would feel that there was nothing to live for, 
but I have gotten over it now. I am firm in my con- 
victions that I shall never marry, but I find there is 
still something to live for. Dad has not said a word 
to me about my little scrape at Norton. I am sure 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


23 


Ma has bought him off, and I have gotten so now 
that I can look him square in the face. But I was 
going to tell you what it was that made me feel that 
there was still some reason why I should cling to life 
and see in it some pleasure for the future. 

I have decided to get rich. Does the idea startle 
you? Well, it startled Dad, but so firm has the de- 
sire for riches taken hold of me that I can talk to 
him about riches just as well as I could talk to a 
customer about buying a load of fencing. Besides, 
I had to tell Dad because I had to explain to him 
why I should not be able to keep his books after I 
was well on the road to wealth. Dad put on one of 
those droll smiles of his as soon as I told him, and 
the smile took such a firm hold of his face that I 
don’t believe he got rid of it until he shaved the next 
morning. 

I may conclude to continue to write to you, how- 
ever, not so much for the money you promised to pay 
me when I become perfect in the profession, as that 
I desire to give you and the readers of your paper 
the benefit of my plans for success. I will tell you 
how it all happened and start you in from the com- 
mencement of my inspiration. I was feeling more 
disgusted with life than usual one evening, out of 
sorts with all mankind and dead sore on all woman- 
kind, when I decided to walk down to Joe Mason s 


24 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


store and see what had become of the old board of 
strategy that was there during the war. 

It was a cold night and I was surprised to find so 
many present, but the mail had been a little late and 
there was a stranger there who was a very interesting 
talker. He was a nephew of old Joel Schoolcraft’s 
and was from Boston. Joel was as proud of him as 
though he had been the president of the United 
States, and would nod his approval of all his nephew 
said. The stranger’s name was Mark Schoolcraft, 
and he was the son of an older brother of Joel’s and 
must have been all of fifty years of age. I guess he is 
quite a big man down in Boston, for he had lived 
there all his life and knew all about the Cradle of 
Liberty and Bunker Hill monument, the Charlestown 
navy yard and the Harvard football team, and lots 
of other things. 

I shall never forget when the inspiration came, 
though. In was when Steve Porter said he would 
like to send his son down there to make some money. 
'‘Send your son down there!” said Mr. Schoolcraft. 
“If you know what is good for your son you want to 
keep him right here. The great trouble with you 
fellows is that you don’t know when you have got a 
good thing. You talk about sending a boy to Bos- 
ton, who doesn’t know a thing on earth, when there 
are gold and silver dollars hanging right on the trees 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


25 


here and you haven’t got sense enough to pick them.” 

Old Joel Schoolcraft chuckled and nudged Charlie 
Kane, who sat by the side of him, but old Steye just 
looked ashamed and seemed to feel sorry he had said 
anything. Henry Burdette, who has more courage 
than most men in such cases, said: ^‘What do you 
mean, my friend, about those gold and silver dollars ? 
We may be blind, but we are willing to have our eyes 
opened.” 

Mr. Schoolcraft straightened out his legs, lit an- 
other of Joe Mason’s best five-cent cigars and said: 
“I doubt if you people can grasp all that I am to say, 
for possibly none of you have looked these matters 
up. You people have one of the finest locations in 
the world for a certain line of business, and if your 
shells aren’t thicker than a cider barrel I can prove it 
to you right now. 

^'You have the ground and you have the air; now 
all you want is a few incubators and a few hundred 
eggs and the foundation of your fortune is made. Did 
you know there were hundreds of carloads of chickens 
shipped to California each year ? Did you know that 
the poultry men of all the great eastern cities have 
trouble to fill their orders ? If you do, then you can 
realize how sure I am that you have the gold and 
silver dollars just for the picking.” 

I wanted to get right out of the store and run 


26 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


home then and commence to get that foundation 
ready, but I thought I had better wait and perhaps 
I would get some more information on the subject. 
I found out that he had never had time to try this 
scheme himself as he was working for the govern- 
ment and could not leave because they could get 
no one to fill his place ; he had hard work to get off 
to visit his Uncle Joel, but I am glad he came. The 
idea that I should ever have thought any girl on 
earth was necessary to my happiness. 

When I went home and crept into bed that night 
I was full of solid joy. I did not go to sleep for two 
whole hours, and when I did I dreamed of dollars 
growing on trees, of barred Plymouth Rocks, White 
Leghorns, incubators hatching silver dollars, and lots 
of other good things which I cannot remember. I 
was up so early that I surprised the folks the next 
morning, and I related all I had heard at the store 
and also what I had decided to do. Ma looked pleased 
and said, half to herself : “How like Uncle William,’’ 
and Dad said: “That’s the uncle that borrowed the 
money of you, isn’t it?” Ma didn’t say a word, so 
I don’t know what the whole thing meant. I have 
sent to Chicago for a poultry journal and am going 
to get right to work. You shall hear how I get 
along, for riches will never lift me above my friends. 


LETTER NUMBER FIVE. 

Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

In my last letter I told you about sending for 
those poultry journals, and about my deciding to get 
rich by raising chickens. I am overjoyed to say that 
I know I am on the right track now, and that my 
future is so bright. The papers came all right ; there 
were three of them, and it seems to me that there is 
information enough in them to make a man inde- 
pendently rich in a short time if he sticks as close 
to the prescribed lines as I shall. 

Dad says he thinks I ought to go somewhere and 
learn the hen business, but I don’t think he means 
it, for he cannot think me so stupid that I cannot run 
a poultry business without serving an apprenticeship. 
Why, old Aunt Sarah Lane has been keeping hens 
for the last fifty years, and she never went to school a 
day in her life, and the old lady sells eggs and make.s 
money. Dad says old Sarah might give me a few 
pointers. I wonder what he takes me for, anyway. 
Of course, the old lady could not teach me anything, 
but you bet I will be ready to teach her in a few days, 
without a doubt. 


28 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


I can talk to Ma about this business, and she un- 
derstands me, but Dad doesn’t seem to catch on at all. 
Dad looked the poultry papers over and just grinned. 
I was asking Ma a few questions as to what she 
thought the different expressions in the poultry jour- 
nals meant, and when I said I wondered what they 
meant when they talked about building up a strain. 
Dad said he thought the strain came in when the 
hens tried to live up to the editor’s stories, and then 
he laughed, but Ma and I did not laugh a bit. 

This hen business is really beyond my calculation, 
when it comes to earning money; I am surprised at 
what can be done. I thought all the chance one had 
was to sell eggs at the market price, and the same 
with chickens, but I find by reading over these papers 
that I can go into the breeding of fancy chickens, and 
that it is just as easy to get three dollars a dozen for 
eggs as it is to get twenty cents. All I have to have 
is the right kind of eggs to start with. Of course, 
those eggs cost more to begin with, but I have a little 
money of my own. 

There was one thing I was puzzled over, and that 
was as to the best method of building henhouses. It 
seems to me as though all the chicken-raisers have 
different ideas, but as they all must have some good 
points, and as I could get the lumber from Dad, I 
built one of each kind, as far as my money went, re- 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


29 


serving a few dollars for those fancy eggs. The back 
yard, where I have started the business, is not so 
very handsome, and Dad kicks a little and calls it 
unsightly, but he will change his tune when I start 
my bank account. 

My incubator and brooders came last night, and I 
have sent six dollars to a firm down East for two 
settings of eggs. Ma said she did not think I ought 
to send so far, but I liked the tone of his ad. I sent 
for what he called his Barred Plymouth Rocks, but 
I have been thinking since that perhaps I have made 
a mistake, as I was calculating to raise chickens for 
the shows, and if these are barred they won’t let me 
enter them, but perhaps barred doesn’t mean the same 
with chickens as it does with horses. 

I am going to keep a regular set of books, and 
when I have paid Dad for his lumber, and Ma for 
the rent of the back yard, I will bet they will both 
give me credit for some smartness. I wish you would 
suggest some name for my poultry farm, something 
that will look well in print, for I intend to advertise 
in the poultry journals as soon as I get some of 
those fancy chicks ready. Dad says I had better call 
it the Clingstone Folly, and that he has charged the 
lumber I took to profit and loss already, but that is 
all talk, for I keep the books myself yet, and I know 
the lumber is charged to Thomas Clingstone, Esquire, 


30 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


and I know that I have a page in the ledger the same 
as any other customer, and I am proud of it. 

I almost forgot to tell you that I could not wait for 
the chickens to hatch before I owned some live stock, 
so I sent to another place and bought a trio of fowl. 
These are prize birds of the Barred Plymouth variety, 
and I expect them to arrive some time next week. 
I have studied their pictures in the paper so much 
that I am sure I would know them if I met them in 
the street. 

Things are coming my way at last, and when I com- 
mence to get in the money for my eggs and chickens 
you can just bet that Louisa Schmidt, that was, will 
be sorry that she ever met a Dutchman before she 
did me, or she would if she ever happened to find 
out about me. I was looking over my books this 
morning, and it makes me feel like a business man, 
although I must own the ledger account is awfully 
one-sided, but that will all change in a short time, 
and when it does I will let you know how much I got 
into debt before I began to pull out. I have read 
that many business men have first gotten badly in 
debt and then made a great success, and I guess I 
am following in their footsteps. I am sure I am, as 
far as the debts go. 

Do you know it makes me feel a foot taller to be 
in business for myself. One of the traveling salesmen 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


31 


we buy of came into the office the other morning 
and sprung some of his funny stuff on me, but I never 
smiled. He asked me if I had taken a drink out of 
mother’s starch bowl, thinking it was buttermilk, or 
if I had swallowed a yellow pine 2 x 4 or anything. 
I suppose he thought that was funny, but I guess 
I took him down a peg or two when I told him I 
was in business for myself now, and that I had on 
my mind something more serious than stale jokes, 
or new ones either, for that matter. 

I have found there is nothing like impressing your 
importance on to people. I can do this quite well 
with the traveling salesmen, for they all want to 
stand in, but I do have lots of trouble with the towns- 
people. You see, I was born right here, and I am 
just Tom to everyone. I have been called Mr. Cling- 
stone several times by strangers, and I can tell you it 
is what should be, and when I have succeeded in my 
business, and have gained my standing among the 
merchants of the country you can just bet that these 
people will call me Mr. Clingstone, or I will not 
answer them. ■ . 

I don’t want you to think by what I have written 
that I feel above the traveling salesmen, for I do 
not. They are right nice fellows, and when my mind 
is not so taken up with my own business I am sure 
I enjoy their jolly ways, but I appreciate the fact that 


32 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


they have no business interests to look after, and 
besides that, they don’t know what care is. They 
have all their expenses paid when they are away from 
home, and one of them told me he had not been home 
for ten years. Just think of it. No care, and stop 
at the best hotels in the country. It would never suit 
me, though, for my active mind needs care. Dad 
says I will get enough when the pin-feathers begin to 
sprout, but I am not losing any sleep about pin- 
feathers, or any other kind, for I have subscribed 
for three poultry journals, and they, with my good 
business ability, will carry me through with flying 
colors. 

There, I have returned to my own business again, 
which I did not intend to do, but it shows how bound 
up I am in it, and how it is uppermost in my mind, 
and I have been told that was the sign of good busi- 
ness ability. I was writing about the lack of care the 
traveling salesmen have, and I wanted to add another 
point that I remembered. The house even pays for 
their laundry, just think of it, and for their baths. 
One of them told me he took a bath every time he got 
to a hotel that had one, as his firm required it of 
him. That would never do for me. Not that I would 
not need the bath occasionally, but to work for a man 
who told me when or where to bathe, or what kind 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


33 


of a shirt I should wear, would be more than I could 
stand. 

As soon as my three-dollar eggs come I will set 
my incubators, and hope by the time I write you 
again I shall write to the music of hundreds of little 
chicks whose song will mean “Money for Tom! 
Money for Tom,'' for I shall be Tom for awhile, 
though I trust sometime I shall, even in the eyes of 
the people of the Corners, rise to the dignity of Mr. 
Thomas Clingstone. 


LETTER NUMBER SIX. 


Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

Three months ago to-day I wrote you of my de- 
termination to get rich and I also told you how I 
was to do it. Of course you remember it was to 
come by the way of eggs and chickens. Two months 
ago I told you more of my story and I also told you 
that when I wrote again I hoped to do so to the 
music of a hundred little chicks. 

Of course you are interested to know how I came 
along in my business, and to tell you the truth I am 
a good bit interested in that myself. I am, going 
to be straightforward and honest with you, for you 
have told me that was the best way and I believe it. 
Besides I need your advice in certain matters that 
have come up in this new line of business of mine. 
I have sent in some questions to the poultry journals, 
but as yet they have not answered me. To tell the 
whole truth I have had a few setbacks in a mild way, 
but I am not at all discouraged, although I have come 
to the conclusion that my henhouses are not just 
the thing, and Dad persists in making remarks that 
have a tendency to hurt my feelings. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


35 


Do you know I think I could write a good article 
on how a father ought to treat his son ? I don’t want 
you to think that I have any fault to find with Dad, 
for I have not, and Ma says that he is a good pro- 
vider and kind, as husbands go. But I feel sure he 
should have a better appreciation of a son who has 
business ability, and I don’t care if he reads this right 
in print. I told him the other day when he was talk- 
ing about age and experience being necessary for 
great achievements and was pointing out Dewey as 
an example, that he must not forget Hobson. Say! 
but you ought to have seen Dad smile as he said: 
“Yes, but he slopped over and sunk his great deed 
in kisses as many fathoms deep as he did the Mer- 
rimac in water.” You know Dad was a sailor once 
and he is at home when talking about ships and the 
ocean. But Hobson is all right just the same, and 
a fellow would be a chump if he let all those sweet 
kisses get by him. Yum I Yum ! ! you bet I wouldn’t. 

I am wandering in my remarks and must get back 
to business. If you remember, I told you what a 
handsome trio of fowls I had sent for. I send you 
the picture that I cut out of the poultry paper and 
also send you a photograph of the trio as they ap- 
peared on arrival. I sent a copy of both of these 
pictures to the editor of the Poultry Journal and 
asked him if I had any redress. That is to say, after 


36 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


I had sent my fifteen dollars for these three fine- 
looking birds as shown in the picture and then re- 
ceived the three dreadful-looking things that I did 
receive, if I could make the man pay me damages or 
pay back my money. I thought and think now that I 
my letter was plain and businesslike, but do you 
know he never answered it at all. 

I showed a copy of the letter to Dad this morning 
just to make sure it was all right, and I could have 
cried with vexation for doing it a moment after. 
Dad may be a good business man, and I know he 
pays cash for everything (and isn't obliged to, either), 
but he makes some very unbusinesslike remarks. He 
read the letter over and then said: *‘You want re- 
dress, do you ? I should think it would be those two 
woe-begone looking hens and that scarecrow of a 
rooster that needed redressing.” I told him that re- 
dress meant damages and then he told me he thought 
I had been damaged enough already. 

I can stand a joke from Dad once in awhile, but 
when he says such things as these in dead earnest 
1 cannot help but feel hurt, and I wonder how he 
has ever succeeded in business with so little educa- ‘ 
tion, don't you? My only solace in my hours of 
trouble is Ma, and she is a world of comfort. She 
told me not to mind Dad ; that all business men had 
their trials and that if I would let the new fowls 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


37 


alone they would most likely redress themselves. I 
looked up quick to see if she had turned against me, 
too, but I have been ashamed of the thought ever 
since, for Ma is as good as gold. I don’t know what 
she means by the fowls redressing themselves, but Ma 
has helped me before and I am bound to trust her 
again. 

The wrong side of the ledger is still increasing in 
figures, and I may have made a few mistakes, but I 
feel assured that the new venture will turn out all 
right. The eggs I sent for down East came at last, but 
they were a long time coming. Dad said they must 
be coming by slow freight, but the man wrote me that 
he had so many orders ahead of mine that he could 
not send them as promptly as he would like to. This 
did not hurt my feelings any, for if he has so many 
orders ahead it only goes to prove that Mr. School- 
craft, of Boston, was right when he said there was a 
fortune in the business for the man who would take 
hold of it. 

Just think of selling eggs at three dollars a dozen. 
Money in it? Well! I should say there was, and 
then to be obliged to write to your customers that 
they must wait their turn! I don’t eat an egg now 
but I see in it the foundation of a fortune. I said that 
at the table one morning, and Dad smiled. Oh, that 
smile, it is simply awful. Dad doesn’t say a word, he 


38 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


just smiles. He has several smiles, Dad has, but he 
doesn’t seem to have but one that he uses in regard 
to the hen business, and since that morning he doesn’t 
say eggs any more; he calls them foundations. He 
likes hard boiled eggs, and thinking he would forget 
to call them foundations if cooked some other way, 
I induced Ma to serve them dropped on toast, the 
same as I had seen it done at the hotels, but it didn’t 
work. When he sat down to breakfast and saw a 
big slice of toast with two eggs resting on it, he 
looked up to me, and said: ^‘Say, Tom, your Ma’s 
struck a new lead. She is starting her foundations 
on mud sills now.” 

Do you wonder that I get discouraged sometimes ? 
After all, I have had a little pleasure out of the busi- 
ness, as well as having enjoyed the prospects of future 
success. When my fancy eggs came I bought enough 
to fill one incubator, and set the thing at work at 
once. For three weeks the last thing at night, and 
the first thing in the morning I was at that incuba- 
tor, and I counted the hours that must pass before I 
should see any of the fruits of my labor. One morn- 
ing, just two weeks ago now, I was rewarded by 
hearing the first peep of a chicken. That day I didn’t 
do any bookkeeping, but I watched the little chickens 
as, one by one, they pecked themselves out of their 
prisons from darkness into light. That was a happy 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


39 


day on the whole, although, like most others, it had 
its drawbacks. 

For instance, I had a hundred eggs in that incu- 
bator, and only fifty-seven of them produced chickens. 
I was so pleased over the fifty-seven that I hardly 
thought about the other forty-three eggs that showed 
no signs of animation, or at least I gave it but little 
thought at first, but Dad never lets anything escape 
him. The next morning he said that he heard that 
I was forty-three birds shy. Just think that my 
Dad, a business man and deacon of the church, should 
talk slang like that. I told him that there were forty- 
three eggs that did not materialize. “Well,” said he, 
“that means that nineteen of the foundation stones 
that you got at the store were no better than the 
ones that you had sent from down East, doesn’t it?” 
I did not say a word, for it never occurred to me 
that I had no way of telling whether or not my prize 
eggs had hatched. Of course, I should have marked 
the eggs, but I didn’t. If I had thought about it at 
all, I should have thought that there would be no 
trouble in telling the chick from three-dollar or 
twenty-cent eggs, but I have learned something, 
however. 

Since the first day when I became the owner of live 
chicks I have had nine funerals, but am still in pos- 
session of forty-eight chicks that need constant care. 


40 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


and have more colors than I ever knew grew on 
feathers. Barred Plymouth Rocks were the kind I 
decided on, but with my forty-three eggs that did 
not hatch, and the nine deaths, I am at a loss to know 
whether Lam spending my time and talents on high- 
priced birds, or the ordinary barn-yard variety. I 
was going to start the incubator again, but Ma says 
I had best gain a little experience with the chicks I 
have first. Taking it for granted that her figuring is 
right, and realizing how busy this little flock is keep- 
ing me, I have decided to take her advice, and await 
developments. 


LETTER NUMBER SEVEN. 


Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

It is with feeling of deep humility that I record 
that my first venture in a business career was a sad 
failure. But I will not get ahead of my story, but 
commence where my last letter left off. At that time 
I had forty-eight chicks that looked fine and healthy, 
and my three prize fowls that I bought of a man in 
the East. No one could have worked harder or done 
more studying than I did, but every twenty-four 
hours brought its own series of disasters, and every 
morning found me with less chicks and more sorrow. 

First it was the cholera; then it was the rats. 
From these two causes I lost all but fifteen of my 
chicks. I had learned to enjoy what remained of 
them for the pleasure I found in seeing them grow, 
when one night there came an awful storm. The way 
it rained and blew was something awful, and the next 
morning when I went out I found the chicken houses 
were destroyed and my fifteen poor little chicks all 
drowned. The three prize birds were still alive, but 
they were a sorry-looking lot. It would have pleased 
me better if the prize birds had been drowned, too, 
as they were reminders of my failure. 


42 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


Dad calls them my assets, and wants to know why 
I don^t take advantage of the new bankruptcy law. 
I felt bad enough to cry, and perhaps I would have 
cried if I had not been so ashamed. Every time I 
went out into the back yard those henhouses stood 
up before me as monuments of my failure. I got 
so I hated to meet Dad. He would not say much, but 
his eye would twinkle and his face would broaden 
and he would look just as though he was about to 
ask me something about my business. 

I made Ma promise that we would not have any 
more chicken cooked in the house until Dad had 
sort of gotten over thinking so much of it, but that did 
not fix things altogether. Last Sunday we did not 
have our regular fried chicken for breakfast, and Dad. 
wanted to know if none of my barred stock was ripe 
enough to fry yet. I didn’t say a word, and Ma 
looked solemn-like and said: “Father.” Dad 
dropped his eyes, but I could just see the flicker of a 
smile that showed me what he would like to say. I 
appreciate Ma more than ever now, and I have told 
her more than once that I would leave home forever 
if it was not for her. She says I must not talk so, 
but it is a fact just the same. 

But I did not tell you how I closed out my busi- 
ness. After the storm I buried the chicks, and was 
glad to get them out of sight. I was feeling better 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 43 

to get them out of the way, when out stalked that 
infernal old barred Plymouth Rock rooster, followed 
by its two wives, and as the old fellow flapped his 
wings and crowed he just seemed to say: '‘You’ve 
made a fail-u-r-e,” and then he would strut around 
and talk, and, upon my word, I believe he was telling 
those hens about me. 

Just at this time old Sarah Lane came along and 
said that Dad told her I had some nice chickens that 
I would sell cheap, and I determined then and there 
that I would close out the whole business. So I asked 
her what she would give me for my three prize birds. 
She allowed that they wa’nt very pert, but that she 
Would give me seventy cents for the three, and I let 
her have them. I then sold her my henhouses for 
three dozen eggs, with the understanding that she 
would send a wagon and haul them away at once. I 
had nothing left now but the incubator. This I tried 
to sell her also, but the old lady said she would not 
insult her hens by bringing a thing like that among 
them. So I toted it off up into the attic, and I hope 
the dust will cover it so deep that it will even drop 
out of my memory, and Dad's, too, for that matter. 

And now, as the preacher says, thus endeth the 
first lesson. It was a serious one, and I am about 
fifty dollars in debt to Dad, besides spending about 
fifty dollars of my own money. I have had a long 


44 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


talk with Ma about the whole thing, and after that 
I felt better. Do you know, I can realize something 
of the goodness of God when I am talking to Ma, 
for to me she seems exactly the same as the preacher 
says God is at times. I confess to her and am re- 
lieved ; I go to her for sympathy in my hours of sore 
distress and she helps me to lift my burden. The 
only difference is Ma doesn’t get angry and say: 
“Vengeance is mine !” and threaten me when I don’t 
do just right. Do you know, when the preacher gets 
to talking on those lines I think more of Ma and less 

of well, Ma would not like it if I said that, and 

perhaps the preacher doesn’t know, anyway. 

If it did not cost so much I would take advantage 
of the bankruptcy law just to play even with Dad. 
He makes my life miserable talking about what I 
owe him and asking me about my fancy fowls. Ma 
told me I must go to work in earnest and pay all 
I owe to Dad, and as Dad told me he w'ould raise my 
pay to fifteen dollars a week if I would tend strictly to 
business and let schemes alone, I will soon be out 
of debt now. Ma isn’t charging me any board, and 
I am wearing my old clothes. It’s pretty tough I 
can tell you, for I have had to put on my Sunday 
suit, and between the marks of the hen yard, the lime 
house and the lumber yard I am obliged to refuse 


TOM CLINGSTONE'S LETTERS. 


45 


all invitations to parties, keep away from church, and 
spend all my time either in the house or lumber yard. 

I shall soon be out of debt, but my wind-up of 
my first business venture was an awful crushing thing 
to a young man who had built his hopes so high. 
Ma was saying the other morning that I had an im- 
aginative mind and would make my mark yet. Ma 
is always saying nice, encouraging things, but Dad, 
as usual, spoiled it all and made me feel meaner than 
ever when he said: “I am glad the boy has some 
kind of a mind. I thought for a time he had lost it, 
and as for his mark, I doubt if he will ever set the 
river afire.'' Do you know that remark just put me 
on my mettle, and I then and there decided that I 
would amount to something in spite of my draw- 
backs. 

I have not decided yet what I will do, but you 
may be sure I will do something, and Dad shall see 
the day when he will realize that he has wronged 
me. I have talked it all over with Ma and she told 
me not to be in a hurry in making a choice. She 
says she wants to keep me with her as long as she 
can. Dad overheard the last part of the remark 
and told her that she need not worry ; that her boy 
would be around at meal times for some time yet. 
We did not say anything, Ma or I didn't, but you 
bet there is something in store for Dad. 


46 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


As soon as I decide what line to follow I will let 
you know. I have about made up my mind that I 
am not fitted for a business man, besides it takes a 
business man a long time to become known to the 
world at large. I think now I would prefer to be a 
poet like Kipling, an actor like Mansfield, or a states- 
man like — like — say, I don’t think of any statesman. 
I mean one whom the people all look up to, one who 
is thoroughly honest and at the same time one who 
gets rich fast. I have been wondering if you could 
not give me a little friendly advice. I have told you 
that my heart’s desire is to get rich and respected, 
but of course you do not know as much about my 
ability as I do myself. Ma says I can do anything I 
set myself to do, and I feel that I have talents lying 
in all directions, but the question with me is what 
business or profession shall I give my life to. 

When the spell comes on me I can make poetry as 
fast as I can think, but suppose I should decide on 
being a poet and the spell should not come often, I 
would have a hard time making a living. The spell 
is on me now. and I will encourage it. Here goes : 

The world is mine, I often think, 

As I dream of my ability; 

But when Dad looks over the brink 
Of his glasses, I only think of agility. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 47 

And now the spell is gone. The worst of it is I 
never know what I am about to write, and after it 
is written I am as much interested in studying out 
the meaning of my verses as anyone else can be. I 
find that this verse I have written explains my case 
exactly. I have great confidence in myself, for I 
realize that I have ability, but when Dad puts on that 
smile of his, or, looking over his glasses, makes a cut- 
ting remark about by enthusiasm, it is like dousing 
a fellow in cold water, and my only thought is to get 
out of the way. 

Ma says she would not like to have me become an 
actor. She said this at the table one morning and 
Dad said he didn’t think there was any danger. Of 
course Dad knows I would not do anything that Ma 
didn’t want me to. Ma likes my poetry and says if 
I gave more thought to it the spells would come 
oftenen I hardly know how to start to be a states- 
man, and it seems a long way from pound keeper to 
president, and I am not so sure that the people would 
vote me in as pound keeper, as I have not told the 
people here how much ability I have and none of 
them seem to have found it out. 

As I said before, I want your advice, but it strikes 
me that the quickest way to bring myself before the 
public and also to make money, is in the line of poetry. 
The only expense is paper and pencil and I can pick 


48 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


up enough of them about Dad’s office. 1 have heard 
that poems often bring as high as a thousand dollars^ 
but I expect I might be obliged to practice as much 
as six months before I could get half of that. 

I shall await your letter of advice anxiously, as I 
want to put my whole time and energy into whatever 
I decide upon. I hope you will advise me on the 
line of poetry, as that is the way I feel inclined, and 
I have heard that a young man should follow his own 
inclinations as long as they are honorable. I am 
happy to think that I am no longer in the chicken 
business. I am inclined to think that was a mistake 
and that I should face a literary career. 


LETTER NUMBER EIGHT. 


Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

The world looks bright again, but I did not fully 
understand your letter. I read it over carefully and 
consulted Ma about it, and at last I decided that I 
would accept the part I did understand and let the 
rest go. You said that ‘'poets were born, not made, 
and that if I were a poet I could not help it,^' but that 
“I should be considerate of my friends.’’ Now, as I 
said before, Ma and I did not just understand that 
letter. “Poets born, not made.” That sounds good, 
but Ma or I either could not understand it. 

Then you said : “If I were a poet, I could not help 
it.” Ma and I both understood that at first, or thought 
we did, but the more we studied it over the more 
we decided that the sentence had a strange ring to 
it. When we read your last sentence, which read that 
“I should be considerate of my friends,” Ma and I 
both knew what that meant. It meant that if I suc- 
ceeded as a poet, you wanted all of my verse. Ma 
felt a little hurt, I know, but I just told her it was 
business, and that you should not be blamed for driv- 
ing a good bargain if you could, even to the getting 
my poetry for nothing. 


50 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


Don’t think that I do not appreciate your kind- 
ness to me, for I do, and I am willing to send you 
a letter each month, even if I do not get any- 
thing for it for awhile, and I am willing to dash off a 
verse or two for your amusement ; but when it comes 
to printing any of my finished poems, that would be 
another matter, for you should understand that a poet 
must not be altogether a dreamer, but must think a 
little of his future. Kipling would not allow you to 
print his poems without paying him well for them, 
and my poems must not only bring me fame but 
wealth. 

You see that I have met your business proposition 
with a counter proposition, and I can well afford to 
do it, as I have already written some very clever 
verse, so Ma thinks. I am thankful that I arrived at 
years of discretion before I commenced to write 
poetry, as I have not dropped into the errors that so 
many others have. I have not started out on spring 
poetry, neither have I attempted to write a parody 
on “The White Man’s Burden.” 

My poetry is original, sort of 

Outbursts of an overflowing soul, 

That wells up and will not be suppressed. 

I write the words the soul inspires, 

And the result is peace and rest. 






4 



52 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


I am surprised myself to find how natural it is for 
me to write poetry. In fact, often when I am writing 
a letter on business for Dad the spell comes on me, 
and it seems as though thoughts would only come 
in poetic rhyme. 

Speaking of Dad reminds me, he does not know a 
word of my intentions for the future and thinks I 
have settled down to do the bookkeeping in his office 
and work in the yard. I am not going to let him 
know, either, for I am confident he would have no 
faith in me and would say something discouraging. 
You see, Dad is from old Dutch stock, and, although 
his family has been in this country for generations, 
they still stick to the old idea that a man’s real worth 
is decided by the amount of actual manual labor he 
can do. Ma is more refined and aristocratic, and it 
is from her side of the house that I take my sensitive 
disposition, my love of the beautiful and my poetic 
Instincts. 

I must tell you how strong this poetic idea has 
taken hold of me — 

How it fills my soul with pleasure, 

How it fills my heart with joy, 

How it takes all my hours of leisure, 

How it makes Ma so proud of her boy. 

It is as much as I can do to keep from making the 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


53 


entries on the journal in rhyme, I am so full of it. 
Ma rejoices with me that at last my talents have come 
to the front, and we have decided to keep it a pro- 
found secret from Dad for two reasons. First, so 
that he will not discourage me, or try to, by his sar- 
castic remarks ; and, next, that we may give him a 
genuine surprise by letting him find out through the 
papers what a noted son he has. Of course, I don’t 
mean to say I am noted now, but with my energy 
and ability I feel that there can be nothing in my path 
that will prove too great a difficulty for me to sur- 
mount. 

There is a funny side to all of this, as well, for 
through my head continual rhymes are running, and 
it is hard at times to settle down to work, and when 
I do I am continually mixing poetry and business. 
For instance, one morning old Cy Campbell, a farmer 
who lives out about five miles, drove in to get a load 
of fencing. He is a snappy old genius, and, unlike 
most farmers, is always in a hurry. He opened the 
office door and cried out : “Here, boy, get out here 
and get me some fencing boards and posts and a few 
spikes right soon.’* 

I smiled at the thought of his calling me a boy, and 
thought how small he would feel if he really knew 
whom he was talking to. I did not say anything un- 
pleasant, but asked the old man a few questions about 


54 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


what he wanted, and then commenced to load his 
team ; but my brain was busy, and as he commenced 
to find fault with some of the No. 3 fencing I re- 
marked, in my quiet way : 

“ So you think the fencing faulty. 

Perhaps the nails are rusty, too; 

Maybe the posts should sprout by now. 

I am coming out to your house 
Before this month is past and gone, 

And when you show your best horse, 

As I live. I’ll swear it is a cow.” 

Say, you ought to have seen old Cy Campbell. He 
was struck dumb for a minute, and then he said : '‘By 
gosh, if the boy hainT turned fool poet !” I laughed 
in my good-natured way, for I knew that Cy was no 
fool and that the expression he used was only to 
cover his chagrin that he had found a young man 
so far above him in intellect and one who could 
improvise the right thing in the right place and talk 
it so that the sound would be like the music of the 
meadow brook. 

There is something soul-inspiring about poetry. 
It makes a man enjoy life as nothing else can. He is 
never alone — the trees, the mountains and the 
meadow are his friends and companions. If I lack 
anything it is congenial companions. There does not 
seem to be any one in Hardacre Corners who can 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


55 


either understand me or who can sympathize with 
me. I always rather liked Henry Burdette, but he is 
so matter-of-fact. I don’t think he meant to hurt 
my feelings, but I met him one day, and as we were 
alone and I wanted some one to talk to on my pet 
theme, I spoke of the wonderful joy that the poet 
must feel as he went about and saw the handiwork 
of his Creator at every turn. I even went so far as 
to mention to Henry the satisfaction there was in 
being able to put one’s thoughts into poetic expres- 
sions. 

Henry gave me one of those hard, earnest looks 
of his and then said : '‘Tom, have you gone daft on 
poetry, like a schoolgirl ?” I felt hurt for a moment, 
but Henry is such an honest, outspoken fellow I was 
sure he -meant no disrespect. My first impulse was 
to turn and walk away; my next thought was that 
I would make a friend and confidant of Henry. So 
I told him of my determination to become a famous 
poet. I also told him how easy it was for me to talk 
and write poetry ; also that I wanted to make a confi- 
dant of him, but that if he tried to discourage me it 
would break my heart. 

“Why, my boy,” said Henry, “I would not hurt 
your feelings for the world, but you must look at 
these things from a practical standpoint.” This was 
a new idea to me, and I told him it never occurred 


56 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


to me that poets needed to bother with common 
sense. Henry laughed loud and long, but even now 
I cannot see the point of the joke, if joke it were. My 
idea of a poet, one who is really famous, is one 

Who has no thought for the morrow, 

And not very much for today; 

If out of cash he can borrow. 

And no one expects him to pay. 

His hair unkempt and long, 

His eyes bloodshot and blear; 

His clothes must to others belong, 

As the hang upon him so queer. 

The soul of this man, I recall. 

Is filled with beauty, I ween; 

He’s honored and petted by all. 

And lives like one in a dream. 

I repeated this to Henry, and he was more than 
surprised. I never saw him look so queer as he said : 
“Why, Tom, you are quite a poet, but you should 
change the last verse, as that kind of a poet we only 
find in books. The man you depict is of another 
breed.” 

“Oh, I could add a dozen verses to those, and 
you would understand me better,” said I. “No,” said 
Henry, “if you change one it is all that is needed. 
Let me see if I cannot fix it.” He had been writing 
down something while talking, and he handed me this : 


TOM CLINGSTONE'S LETTERS. 


57 


“ The man you are dreaming about 
Don’t savor of the poet one crumb; 

The police should ‘move on’ the lout, 

For he’s only a tramp and a bum.” 

I have often heard that people of opposite natures 
make the best of friends, and I am going to make a 
friend of Henry Burdette. I do this for two reasons : 
First, because I need him, and next because I like 
him. Perhaps I should have put the last reason first, 
but I realized that I could use him before I realized 
that I liked him. Dad overheard me telling this to 
Ma, and he said he guessed I was not so different 
from other people. 


LETTER NUMBER NINE. 


Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

The unexpected has again happened, and I am 
really and truly in love. You are surprised, I know, 
for I had given you to understand that woman’s 
charms would never again have any claims on me. 
I am awake to one point, however — the little love 
story I once told you, and the only one I ever had 
until now, was nothing like this. Then, the eye of 
the boy saw and the head was disturbed; now, the 
mind of the man is attracted and the heart is in a 
tumult of wild throbbing. Don’t think for a moment 
this love affair turned me from my purpose of becom- 
ing a noted poet, for this is the higher love that 
brings out the better part of the man and gives him 
a new and higher aim, besides bringing to the fore 
the softening influence that rounds out to a more 
perfect degree of fullness the inborn poetic nature. 
The world never looked so beautiful, the fields were 
never so green, neither did the flowers put forth so 
much fragrance. Do you know I never before real- 
ized how beautifully the birds sang and how all of 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


59 


God’s creatures tried to show that everything made 
is for our good. 

A few nights ago I walked out of the village think- 
ing I would like to be for a time all by myself. There 
was no moon, but the stars were out in all their bril- 
liancy and I saw the beauties of the heavens as I 
never saw them before. The whole heavenly canopy 
seemed to be set with diamonds and each crystal was 
of the first water. A dog bayed in the silence, and 
instead of thinking of the circumstance in the light 
of ignorant superstition, it seemed a low note of en- 
couragement to put new life into my hopes for the 
future. 

I have read what I have written and I can take 
nothing from it, but I am surprised to note that as 
yet I have not hinted as to who my angel is, for she is 
an angel if ever there were one. I will commence at 
the beginning and tell you, that you may enjoy in a 
small measure what I enjoyed to its fullness. ‘‘What 
I have enjoyed to its fullness, did I say?’^ No, I do 
not mean that, for more attractions do I see in my 
angel every day, and I feel that the best is yet to 
come. I must tell you how I found her, and while 
I am telling you I will go over again, as in a dream 
of love, the happiness I have already experienced. 
Sarah Annie Perkins is her name. Don’t you think 
it a sweet name? I do. It is so euphonious and so 


60 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


like the dear girl. I don’t know why it is like her, but 
it is. Let me describe her : She is tall and slender, 
straight as an arrow, has steel gray eyes, and her hair 
is of a rich auburn hue ; her complexion is clear and 
beautiful, with a stray freckle here and there, which 
shows off to a better advantage her soft white skin. 

I was going by Charlie Kane’s house one evening 
on my way for a solitary walk, so that I might court 
the muse, when Charlie called me in and asked me 
to tell him something about chicken raising. He 
said he had decided to try it on a small scale, and 
wanted my advice. As I came in and bade Mrs. 
Kane good evening, I noticed they had company, and 
was then introduced to Miss Perkins. I am usually 
able to take my part among strangers, but this was 
a new experience for me. When this tall girl that 
was so divinely fair came forward at the introduction 
and took my hand, I felt that something new had 
come into my life, something that had heretofore 
been lacking. The fact is, I had fallen desperately 
in love at first sight, but did not realize it until I had 
left her presence for the night. Miss Perkins had 
more command of herself than I, but she has confided 
to me since that her feelings at our first meeting 
were very similar to those I described as mine. I 
talked chickens with Charlie Kane, music with his 
wife and poetry with Miss Perkins, but my embar- 



“I was introduced to Miss Perkins.” 










62 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


rassment did not fully wear off, and I am inclined to 
think that at times the three subjects were badly 
mixed. I got through the evening without any dis- 
graceful breaks, and was surprised to find that it was 
twelve o’clock when I reached home. It was seven 
when Charlie called me in. I wondered where the 
time went. 

Today I know that I am in love and am loved in 
return, and a new impetus has been given me. I 
must work for her as well as for myself, but it is 
easier than ever to write verses now. They just 
come of themselves, one word tumbling over the 
other, and forming into lines and verses almost as 
fast as thought can run. 

Our evenings are spent together, 

Our friendship is true and fast; 

Not long have we been acquainted, 

But we are sure our love will last. 

We were out walking in the gloaming a short time 
after we first met. I had known her a whole week 
then, and I had made up my mind that I must learn 
my fate. How to commence was more than I knew 
— words would not come in prose, so I resorted to 
verse. I said: ^ 

Let us rest on this log a moment, 

For I have a story to tell — 

A story as old as the hills are, 

And I hope I may tell it, well.” 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


63 


The declaration of love was coming next, but as 
we sat down on the log I had pointed to, Sarah said : 
'‘Of course you can tell it well, Mr. Clingstone, for 
practice makes perfect you know.’^ Do you know, 
I believe the sweet thing was jealous. Sitting down 
beside her, and taking her hand, I said: “I have 
longed for the time when people would call me Mr. 
Clingstone, but I never thought the sound of the 
name would be distasteful to me. Please call me 
Tom, and believe me when I say that you are the 
only woman I ever wanted to tell the old story to.” 
“All right, Tom, if that is what you want to be 
called,” said she, “but don’t get sentimental; let’s 
talk of other things. Who is your father’s partner 
in the lumber business?” I felt that she had said 
the first thing that came into her mind, but I also 
know it was her modesty that prompted it. I laughed 
at her and told her everybody knew that my dad had 
no partner and never did have, and he owned the 
lumber yard, owned his own house and had money 
in the bank besides. “But,” said I, “you need not 
try to put me off that way; I have promised myself 
that I would tell the old story to you tonight.” And 
I did tell her the story of my love, and after awhile 
gained her consent to be mine at some future time. 
It is strange how coy a woman can be, isn’t it ? She 
broke in more than twenty times while I was trying 


64 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


to tell her of my love, and asked the strangest things, 
things that had not the least in the world to do with 
love and marriage. She asked me if I was the only 
child, and how much the lumber yard was worth, how 
much I thought Dad had in the bank, how much I 
thought the house we lived in would sell for, and a lot 
of other questions in the same line. I was persistent, 
however, and when we parted we were engaged. 

There is something strange, though, about a 
woman in love, and I cannot help thinking how mod- 
est Miss Sarah is. She has made me promise that I 
will not say a word for the present about our engage- 
ment, and not drop a hint to any one that I care 
for her. Doesn’t it beat all how a woman can tie a 
fellow up? I tried to get her consent for me to tell 
Ma about it, but she was firm, and I think too much 
of her to take any chances. She has even cautioned 
me against coming to see her until after dark, and 
also says I must control my feelings when we meet 
on the street, so no one will know we are anything 
to each other. She has told me something of her 
life and she may well be called a self-made woman. 
Sometimes I wonder why I was so fortunate as to 
win her, but I suppose she had heard of my writing 
poetry, or perhaps she thinks I am good looking; 
Ma does. 


XOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 

Life to me it something worth, 

For she is mine, I’d have you know; 
Together we’ll enjoy the summer’s sun, 
Together we’ll brave the winter’s snow. 

With the poet’s pencil in my hand. 
Writing the lines to bring us fame. 
Asking no favors of the world 
Save a well-earned, honest name. 


6S 


LETTER NUMBER TEN. 


Please do not search this letter for postmarks, and 
don’t let any one know where I am if there is a 
postmark to be seen. I am deliberating on several 
questions just now. The first one is: ‘Ts life worth 
living?” The second is: “What have I to live for?” 
and the third, “How in the name of all that is good 
am I to get a living?” Of course these remarks 
surprise you, but there have been wonderful happen- 
ings since I last wrote you. We are told that love 
is blind, that it puts a man to sleep, that it dulls the 
sense of justice, and we are also told several other 
things, all of which I am willing to believe at the 
present time, for the love of Sarah Annie Perkins, or 
Sail Ann Perkins, as I think of her now, has taken 
all of the sweetness out of life for me. 

I will tell you how it came about: I did not ex- 
actly tell, but I was so full of love for the girl that it 
just cropped out, and James Henry Burdette guessed 
my secret. After finding out the truth about the 
matter James Henry told me all about her. She is 
an adventuress, has been married twice, and no one 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


67 


knows whether both of her husbands are dead or not. 
I never heard a man talk so about a woman as he 
did, and I don't know what more he would have said 
if I had not stopped him, for, to tell the truth, I did 
not believe a word of what he said, and as soon as 
I could get away from him I started at once for 
Charlie Kane’s house to tell Sarah all about it. I 
was mad at James Henry and more than ever in love 
with Miss Perkins. I felt that she had been wronged, 
and I intended to right things as much as possible. 
I got to Charlie’s house about half-past nine in the 
morning, and as I was about to knock I heard a voice 
inside. That would not have stopped me, but I heard 
my own name. I was flattered for a moment, and 
could not help waiting to hear what nice things she 
would say about me. Imagine my surprise to hear 
her say: ^‘Yes, Tom Clingstone is all right as far 
as he goes, and when we are married I will work the 
old man for a good living. I am tired of living by 
my wits and must rest up on some one. Tom is a 
simple fool, and I won’t have any trouble with him.’* 
“But," said Mrs. Kane, “suppose the old man, as 
you call him, does not take kindly to you as Tom’s 
wife and turns both of you off, what will you do 
then?" “Don’t cross a bridge until you come to it, 
Mattie. You know what I have done, and I have lost 
no part of my cunning yet. I ought to have landed 


68 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


the judge’s son last month, but he was too slick for 
me. I was a little rash and overdid matters. Say, 
Mat, you can just bet when we are spliced I will take 
the poetry out of him, the chuckleheaded chump.” 
“Sally, I don’t see how you can marry a fellow that I 
you don’t respect, even for the sake of a rest, as you 
say.” “You are slow, Mattie. I haven’t lived quite 
as long as you, but I have had a heap more fun. Tom 
is the best there is within reach, and I have got to 
clothe up. When I get well decked out and see 
something worth my while, and have drained the 
Clingstone pond dry, I will be ready for something 
that is nearer my idea of what a side partner ought 
to be.” 

Just at this time a troop of children came around 
the house, led by Charlie Kane’s eldest, and as they 
saw me they commenced to holler, “Hello, Tom! 
Hello, Tom ! Did you come to get married? Thought 
you could not come till after dark. Oh, Aunt Sally 
is a peach, and she’s going to make you walk Spanish, 
whatever that is.” I cannot write how I felt, but I 
was as weak as a rag. The noise made by the boys 
roused the two women inside, and the next I knew 
the door opened and I was seized by the collar and 
snatched inside in less time than it takes to think it. 
When I came to myself I was all in a heap on the 
floor and Miss Perkins was standing over me with a 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


69 


flatiron. I was sure she was going to brain me, and 
such a looking woman I hope never to see again. 
Her red hair looked as though it had never been 
combed for weeks, and those freckles I used to think 
as beauty spots stood out as big as dollars, and her 
gray eyes seemed to look through the center of two 
of them. Mrs. Kane burst into a laugh, but I did 
not feel like laughing. To say that Miss Perkins 
was mad does not begin to express it. She raised the 
flatiron and said: ‘'Lie still, you fool; shut up, Mat- 
tie.’* Then, turning her attention to me again, she 
said : “And so you were listening, were you ? How 
long had you been there? Tell me, quick, now, or I 
will smash your soft head for you.” I don’t know 
what I said, but she made me sit up in a chair and 
then started at me again. “Now, Tom, you have 
heard something, and I don’t care much what. All 
I have got to say is if you will marry me to-day I will 
make you a good wife, but if you refuse me I will sue 
you for breach of promise to-morrow, and I will ruin 
both you and your father. Now, make up your mind, 
and be quick about it; and I have a notion to beat 
your brains out now if you refuse.” Say, now, Mr. 
Editor, what would you have done? Perhaps I was 
a coward, but I promised right then and there that I 
would marry her as soon as I could get ready, “Well,” 
said Miss Perkins, “I am ready right now. Mattie, 


70 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


you go for the minister, and Til hang on to my 
game.'’ Mrs. Kane started for the minister and my 
wife-to-be commenced giving me a few lessons as to 
how I should act when the minister arrived. At this 
junction the door opened and in walked Charlie Kane. 
This seemed to confuse my intended, and as Charlie 
left the door open I bolted. I never stopped run- 
ning until I landed in Ma’s kitchen. Thirty minutes 
from that time I was on a train bound West. I had 
told my story, got what money she had on hand, 
grabbed some mail that had come for me and just 
barely caught the next train out of town. Ma prom- 
ised to send my clothes as soon as I got located. 

A sigh of relief escaped me as soon as the train 
pulled out of the station. It sounded like the noise 
that comes from the escape valve of a locomotive that 
is overburdened with steam. I then went through 
my pockets and took an inventory of my money and 
worldly possessions. As I was doing this I spied my 
mail, which I had not thought of before, and here 
must be recorded another failure. My mail con- 
sisted of returned manuscripts. I felt as though the 
last claim to life had been taken from me, and that ^ 
all there was left for me to do was to end my miser- 
able existence the best I could. The only question 
with me was as to how it could be done in order to 
have it over as soon as possible. When I got on the 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 71 

train at Hardacre Corners I paid my fare as far as 
the conductor went, and then, deciding to go further, 
I paid again, which I hope has taken me so far from 
my native state that the reflection of Sally Perkins'' 
red hair cannot blind me. 

Arriving at my destination, I decided not to die, 
but, as the minister says, ‘'man proposes and God 
disposes.’’ I might starve to death. I have been 
here four days and have found nothing to do. Am 
paying ten cents a night for lodging and as little as 
possible for my meals. I am not so sure Dad will 
send me any money; in fact, I am only sure of one 
thing, and that is, if I could run across one of those 
kicking machines, such as I saw pictured in a paper 
once, I would back up to it with a relish. I have 
met some pretty good fellows at the hotel where I 
board, but they are all “down on their luck,” as they 
express it, and they are not an overly nice crowd to 
be with. 

It was a great blow to me to find out that the 
publishers in the East did not appreciate my poetry. 
There is no doubt these things go by favoritism, and 
until I get something of a pull with a publishing 
house, perhaps it will be just as well not to try for 
success in that line again. I had a queer experience 
last night. A woman spoke to me as I was walking 
down the street, and it sounded so much like the voice 


72 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


of Miss Perkins that I bolted down the street at a 
breakneck pace. The girl laughed, and a couple of 
policemen, thinking there was something wrong, took 
after me, crying, “Stop thief! Stop thief!” But I 
was no thief, and did not stop. ' Darkness favored 
me, and my pursuers were soon outdistanced. I 
made for the outskirts of the town, and, finding a lit- 
tle, uninhabited saddle-backed house, I crawled 
through a half-opened window and there passed the 
night. I slept some, but most of the time was spent 
in contrasting my former condition, when I was a 
respected young man among the people who had 
known me all my life, and my present state, where I 
was hunted by the police without cause, afraid of any 
voice that in the least resembled that of Miss Per- 
kins, almost fainted when I saw a head of red 
hair, and was even ready to dive into the first alley 
at the sight of a white horse. My address you will 
find on a separate paper. Kindly send me a check, 
but don’t write it with red ink. Red gives me such a 
chill. 


LETTER NUMBER ELEVEN. 


Omaha, Nebraska. 

I received your letter and check, which although 
small, was quite acceptable. I hardly know how to 
begin, when it comes to telling you the adventures I 
have passed through in the past month, and I don’t 
see how I am to get it into one page of your paper. 
I have learned several things, and one that seems to 
me as important as any is, that in order to be a suc- 
cessful writer, one must write about things that he 
knows and stick close to the truth. 

My own daily experience is all that I know, and 
I know of no reason why I should not stick to the 
truth; in fact I could no nothing else, for there 
seems to be no chance to enlarge upon or embellish 
it. When I wrote you last I was out of work, nearly 
out of money, and my clothes had not arrived from 
home, but I had decided not to throw my young life 
away, and the next morning, after spending the night 
in the saddle-backed house spoken of in my previous 
letter, I started in with renewed energy to find some- 
thing to do. I know but little of any business but 
lumber, and my first effort was in that direction, but 


74 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


with prices going up and every one having all they 
could do, no one seemed to have a chance for me. 
The first man I appealed to I asked for a position as 
bookkeeper, and his answer was, “What, with those 
hands?” A half-dozen men that were in the office 
roared with laughter. When I asked the next man, I 
put my hands behind me, and the man looked at my 
feet and said: “No.” After making two more trials 
I tried to get on as salesman, but there were no open- 
ings that I could find. One man said he would give 
me a chance to drive a team if I knew the city well 
enough, but he might as well have offered me an 
interest in the business by my paying ten thousand 
dollars. 

About this time a letter came from Ma, and also 
my clothes. Ma’s letter was not very encouraging. 
Here it is. Just look it over for yourself : 

“My Dear Tom: — Your Dad has forbidden my 
sending you any money, and tells me to write to you 
that you must shirk for yourself now; but, my dear 
son, keep a stout heart. Dad will soon feel different, I 
am sure, and as soon as he does he will send you some 
money. I sent your clothes by express prepaid, and 
I am sure by this time you will get work enough 
among lumbermen, or will as soon as you tell them 
who you are. Be a good boy, and don’t fail to go to 
church every Sunday. Your affectionate, Ma.” 



! 

I 


“I read this letter to Dan 





76 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


I wonder what Ma would say if she knew what my 
condition was at the time I got that letter. I had 
just twenty-five cents in my pocket, and was hungry 
enough to have eaten a hole in a side of raw beef. 

After all, the letter brought me good news, and I 
lost no time in getting to the express office and get- 
ting my trunk up to the lodging house. I had made 
some talk to one young man at the lodging house, 
his name was Dan Hornbeam, and although some 
said he was as tough as his name implied, he seemed 
to me to be rather a good fellow after all. Dan is a 
little older than I and knows a little more of this 
kind of life, and it was to him I went with my troubles 
as soon as I received the letter from Ma. I was 
almost crying at the coolness of Ma’s letter as I read 
it over to Dan, when he broke in with, “Say, Kid, 
we’re in luck; let’s get at that box of dry goods as 
soon as possible. We will call on our uncle at once.” 
With that we opened up the trunk, and the first thing 
we struck was a box of lunch that Ma had put in. 
It took Dan and me two days to get through with that 
lunch. Once Dan said it was next thing to getting 
a letter from his baby. What do you suppose he 
meant? He is a funny fellow, Dan is, and I don’t 
half understand him. He told me lots about how 
good his uncle had been to him in the past, and then 
when we came to look him up, I found he wasn’t his 


TOM CLINGSTONES LETTERS. 


77 


uncle at all, only a Jew pawnbroker, who took my 
trunk full of clothes and lent us fifteen dollars on 
them. We divided the money even, as that was the 
right way between friends, so Dan said, and then as 
Dan’s money was spent before mine was we divided 
again. This Dan said was according to the code. 
I didn’t know what the code was, but I made up my 
mind that I would not allow people to think that I 
was so blamed ignorant. 

After I got the seven dollars for my clothes I didn’t 
try so hard for work, as, after thinking it over, I was 
sure Dad would send for me soon. The funds were 
getting low, and I had divided again with Dan, when 
I received the following letter from Dad. It was 
written from Hardacre Corners, and here it is : 

“To Thomas Clingstone, Esq.: — Now that you 
have started out for yourself, I feel that the least I 
can do for you is to write you a letter of advice. As 
a baby I was proud of you. As a school boy I had 
my doubts about you, but when you gained your 
twenty-first year and you went crazy over a freckle- 
faced, red-headed, cross-eyed adventuress, and did 
not have pluck enough to stand up to the fight, but 
went off like a whipped cur, my doubts fled. I knew 
then that all the money I had spent on you could 
have been used to better advantage buying hogs, and 
it would have bought a nice bunch, too. I propose 


78 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


to give you some good advice, but as no one follows 
good advice, this will no doubt be thrown away on 
you; at the same time, if you have one particle of 
respect for your mother or myself, I trust you will 
walk in the path I have laid out for you. The gov- 
ernment is in need of men to go to the Philippine 
Islands. I don’t think you would make much of a 
soldier, but you are tall and wide, and might make 
a good mark for some of those poor Filipinos, who 
seem to have hard work hitting anything anyway. It 
might perhaps be easier to go and throw yourself in 
the river, but you would miss the glory of dying 
for your country, and your Ma and I would feel that 
all our care had been lost on you. I have made my 
will and left my property to your uncle Joseph. I 
have done this for two reasons — first, because I want 
to impress it upon you that you must paddle for your- 
self from now on, and second, so that it would not 
be a temptation for some designing woman to steal 
you. Your well-wisher, John Clingstone.” 

I read this letter to Dan, and I thought he would 
burst a blood vessel from laughing. “Say,” says he, 
“but the old man is a lolly pop, isn’t he? AVe you 
going to enlist to please him?” I decided at once 
not to enlist, and that I was never cut out for a sol- 
dier. I have also decided that Mr. John Clingstone 
and my Ma will wait a long time before they hear 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


79 


from me again, unless they should write again and 
take back what they have said. There is no question 
but that I have been helped some in these matters 
by my friend, Dan Hornbeam, for he is one of those 
chaps who, as he says, ‘^makes the best of a bad bar- 
gain,” and that all bargains that come his way are 
bad. When Dad’s letter came we knew our chances 
for assistance were gone, and as our money was 
about used up, Dan secured a place for me to wash 
dishes in a restaurant. I would not have cared so 
much, but it is one of those cheap places where they 
advertise to give you a square meal for ten cents. 
Dan said he would have taken this place himself, but 
that washing dishes made his hands cramp, and he 
didn’t dare tackle it. He said the last time he tried 
it his hand cramped on some silverware and gave 
him lots of trouble. A fellow learns something every 
day out here. I had heard of writer’s cramp and 
telegrapher’s cramp, but this is the first time I ever 
heard of dishwasher’s cramp. Dan is looking out 
for a better job for me, although he says we are both 
pretty comfortable now. You see we both get our 
meals and a chance to bunk in the stable loft, in pay- 
ment for my work, and Dan stands outside some- 
times and tells the people to come in and get a square 
for ten cents. 

I am writing this in the loft, and Dan is holding 


80 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


the lantern and asking me how much I think you will 
pay me for this letter, and how soon I think I will 
get it. I don’t want you to take this for a hint, but 
you wrote me once that the successful writer was 
the truthful writer, and if ever success were needed 
by Tom and Dan, that time is right now. 

I put Dan in with myself always, because he says 
we are pals now and must stick together and divide 
with each other always. So far the dividing has been 
all on my side, but Dan says it happens so some- 
times, and that now that Alger has left the cabinet, 
he is looking for more favorable conditions. I asked 
him what General Alger had to do with the case, and 
he got excited and talked for a half hour. T don’t 
remember all he said, but I do recollect a few of his 
ringing remarks. Here are some of them : “I want 
you to understand, Tom, that this is a government of 
the people, by the people and for the people, and that 
we are the people ; also that every move that is made 
in Washington touches every patriotic citizen within 
the length and breadth of this grand country. You 
ask what effect the resignation of General Alger will 
have on our conditions. I cannot explain this to you 
but this much I do know, that as soon as I heard of 
it, I went out and borrowed a dollar of a man I 
hardly knew, and I am sure that if General Otis had 
been recalled at the same time that Gen. Alger re- 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


81 


signed, I could have struck the fellow for a V, and 
got it just as easy. Why,” continued Dan, *Tt was 
since Alger resigned that a gentleman was walking 
on Sixteenth street, about two o’clock one morning, 
and a policeman stopped him, asking what he was 
doing loose at that time in the morning, and he said 
that he had just heard that Alger had resigned, and 
that he was a business man and had decided since 
he heard the news from Washington to open a jewel- 
er’s shop on Sixteenth street; and the policeman 
shook hands with him when they parted. Sure 
enough the man did open a jewelry store on Six- 
teenth street that very morning, and cleaned up about 
a thousand dollars, and they haven’t caught him yet.” 
Dan talked this stuff off so fast that I could scarce 
keep up with him, and I am impressed with the fact 
that he is a very deep young man, with much more 
education than I ever gave him credit for. He says 
we will come out on top yet, and I am somewhat en- 
couraged. 


LETTER NUMBER TWELVE. 


Omaha, Nebraska. 

It seems a long time since I wrote you my last . 
letter, and I am still a dishwasher at the ten-cent ' 
restaurant. Dan says I am doing well, as the scul- 
lery maid left and I have been promoted to head 
dishwasher. The next step will be second cook, but 
I cannot say it is just to my liking. I wanted to get 
Dan to take my place for awhile and let me go out 
and hunt some other job, but he says I had best stick 
right to a good thing when I have it, and he can 
look for a better job as well as I can. 

Dan has sort of constituted himself my manager, 
so he says, and he tells me this is the right way to do. 
The way he explains it is, that a man wears out fast 
if he is obliged to work with his head and his hands 
at the same time, so he thought best for me to do 
the manual labor and let him do the brain work. I 
asked him last week when he thought he could get 
me another job, and he said he had been trying to , 
get something to suit my ability, but the jobs he had 
struck so far had either been above or below me. I 
pressed him for an explanation, and he said he had 


TOM CLINGSTONE S LETTERS. 


83 


found two jobs, one was a cashier in a bank and the 
other was chambermaid in a livery stable, either of 
which, he said, was not exactly in my line. I asked 
him how he knew of these jobs, and he said the livery 
man was a man he had known in more flush times ; 
and that the bank president and the chief of police 
had both been talking to him about the bank being 
short a cashier. “You see^ it was this way,” said 
Dan ; “a friend of mine put the cashier to sleep and 
some folks seem to think that I was there when the 
nap commenced. They sweat me for awhile, but I 
don’t guess they opened any gold mine of informa- 
tion. I hardly think you could get that job, though, 
Tom, and as for the stable — well, the job you have 
brings us good returns.” 

I am getting a little sharper than I once was, and 
can understand some of Dan’s talk, and, of course, I 
knew that if I got the job of chambermaid at a livery 
stable, my duties would be to make up the beds for 
the horses, but I did not follow him about the bank 
deal and I told him that I did not think I would care 
for a job even as cashier of a bank if it were only to 
last while the cashier was asleep. Tom said he 
guessed I was all right, but some of the people his 
friends worked on slept a good long while. 

Some one stole my coat last week and here is 
where Dan showed himself a true friend. He took 


84 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


my measure and the next day he brought me another 
coat. It fits about as well as my old one, and is but 
little worn. I asked him how he got it and he said 
he struck the “fence” for it. I did not ask any more 
questions, for I don’t want to be considered green, 
but I do wish I could understand Dan’s lingo. A 
year ago now I was here attending the fair, and it 
makes me feel sort of tough to think of the bad luck 
I have had since. At that time I held a good posi- 
tion in Dad’s lumber yard and Ma doted on me ; now 
I feel that I am forgotten by friends and parents, and 
for some reason cannot get a start in life. I work 
early and late on these old dirty pots, kettles and 
dishes, and it seems as though there were no end to 
them. I had a little rest one day last week and I 
begin to think Dan is the best friend I ever had, for 
he hired another fellow to do my work and took me 
to the exposition. There were four of us together. 
I don’t know what the other two fellows’ names were ; 
Dan called one of them Freckles and the other one 
Bute. The last one was anything but a beauty, but 
Freckles was all right, for he was not only ffeckled 
but also red-headed. He reminded me of the cause of 
all my troubles and I trembled every time he spoke. 
Dan paid all the bills and took us to all the side 
shows, and bought all the beer the boys would drink. 
I would not drink beer, so he bought me popcorn and 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


85 


lemonade. Dan must have spent all of ten dollars that 
night. The next day I asked him where he got his 
money, and he told me that he had just received an 
allowance from his uncle’s estate. I asked him when 
his uncle died, and he said he wasn’t exactly dead 
and he wasn’t dead easy either, but he managed to 
make him shell out a little once in awhile. Dan is 
sure enough a queer chap, and sometimes I think he 
is not just the fellow I ought to have for a pal, as 
he calls it, but he is smart, and when I begin to ques- 
tion him so that I can understand better he confounds 
me with his knowledge. I was telling him the other 
day about my boss, the owner of the restaurant, and 
how he scolded me, and Dan said what I needed was 
a little Christian Science. “Why,” said he, “you don’t 
understand these things, Tom; you worry your head 
about the boss and the way he treats you, when, if 
you only thought so, you could rise above these 
things and realize that you are in a better position 
than he is. He thinks he owns the hash-house and 
you work for him, but he only thinks so. You have 
just as much right to think so as he has, and if you 
want to you can think you own half the city. Now, 
Tom, I can prove to you that you are right well off ; 
you know the Bible says it is better to give than to 
receive. While it is true you don’t receive much for 
your labor, you are giving me a place to get a square 


86 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


three times a day, and that ought to make you happy. 
You are always talking about getting a better job 
where you can make some money. Now, Tom, you 
are wrong. There isn’t a man in the country that is 
worth a million who isn’t growing old before his time 
worrying because they don’t put pockets in shrouds. 
What you need is to get your mind in proper shape. 
You don’t hear me making a fuss because I ain’t pres- 
ident of a street railway company ; not much ! I have 
a good friend in you, Tom. I get three squares a 
day and once in awhile I draw a little from my uncle. 
When it gets a little cooler and people sleep better 
nights Freckles, Bute and I are going to form a 
syndicate and see if we can’t raise a little dust. You 
can go with us if you like, and after we have turned 
an honest penny we will go South for our health.” 
I asked him what kind of business they were going 
into, and he said they had not decided yet, but that 
Freckles was an expert locksmith and they might 
do a little at that until they got an opening. I have 
made up my mind that I had better stick to Dan, 
especially after he gave me this talk. 

Since writing the above I have had another talk 
with Dan and I feel better yet. Say, he is a wonder. 
We were up in the barn loft, where we sleep; I hap- 
pened to remark that this dirty hole was not much 
like the room I had at home, with its comfortable 


TOM CLINGSTONE'S LETTERS. 


87 


bed and clean linen. Dan looked at me for a little 
and then laughed outright. ‘‘Why/’ said he, “you 
can have any kind of a room you want if you only 
think so. Look around you and you most likely 
think you see a couple of cheap cots, three broken 
chairs and a spit-kid on the bare floor. I don’t look 
at these things as you do. Those cots there are the 
finest of spring beds, on which are the best of hair 
mattresses, with sheets as white as the driven snow ; 
those pillows are big and filled with the best of down ; 
on the floor is a rich Turkish rug, so soft that when 
you step your feet sink in just as though you were 
treading on meadow moss; the ceiling is high and 
frescoed in the most artistic designs, and the walls 
are hung with pictures that would put the old mas- 
ters to shame. Hark! I hear the boy coming up 
the hall now, and I can hear the clink of the ice in 
the pitcher that Gene Field wrote about so beauti- 
fully. Oh, here he comes now.” And Dan reached 
out his hand and went through the motions of taking 
a glass and drinking, and it was so perfectly natural 
that it was cooling to us both. Dan then put his 
hand in his vest pocket and went through the motions 
of tipping the boy off with a quarter, and, for a fact, 
I could see the boy as he took the quarter and, smil- 
ingly thanking Dan, withdrew. I shut my eyes and 
said: “Dan, do go on and talk some more. You 


88 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


have made me feel better than I felt before since I 
thought I was on the verge of getting rich in the 
chicken business.” Dan laughed and said that hot 
air was cheap, but if a fellow knew how to apply it, it 
was a great cooler. For an educated fellow Dan 
uses some queer phrases and some that are para- 
doxical in the extreme, but as I look back on the past 
few months of my life, and realize what a failure I 
have been, I haven’t the courage to even ask him to 
make himself more clear to me. The fact is Dan is 
deep, but one can’t help liking him. But to go back 
to the evening when he changed our room into such 
a dream of a place : I kept my eyes closed, for I had 
gotten hold of Dan’s idea, and I wanted to retain the 
beautiful vision as long as I could. I was in hopes 
he would go on again in the same strain, but he 
branched off into something else that gave me even 
a better opinion of him. Dan is sure enough a reader, 
and he says himseff that he is past master in political 
economy. I don’t exactly know what that means, 
but I suppose it is some course of schooling he has 
taken. It was only last night that this talk occurred, 
and I have not seen Dan since, but I remember every 
word he said. He commenced by saying: *‘Tom, 
while you rest on that bed that is worth more than 
any other bed in Omaha this moment, I want to tell 
you something I have been thinking of lately. Some- 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


89 


times I have thought I ought to have gone into poli- 
tics just for the good of my country. The fact is, 
Tom, Billey McKinley isn’t just the man to be at the 
head of this government; he is too slow. Months 
ago those heathens in the Philippine Islands should 
have been taught a lesson that would have brought 
them to terms. You see, Tom, we bought those 
black-skinned devils and paid Spain $20,000,000 for 
them. Of course, we were intending to do the right 
thing by them and would have done so if they would 
have let us, but you can’t do anything for a fellow 
if he won’t have it. Now, as I said before, McKinley 
is not the man for the place. He has proved it, for 
he never yet has found out what those fellows are 
fighting for. I know all about it, for I have had 
private advices. You see, those Filipinos got mad 
at once as soon as they found out the price they were 
sold for, as after they had figured it up they found 
it only amounted to about a dollar and six bits apiece. 
Mac, not knowing this, but thinking they wanted their 
independence, sent Otis out there to whip them into 
being good citizens. As soon as Otis arrived a 
friend of mine told him what the trouble was, and he 
sent word to the native congress and asked them if 
they would be satisfied if he killed off enough Fili- 
pinos so that what remained would make the $20,000,- 
000 figure out three dollars apiece. They sent back 


90 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


word that if he would kill off enough to make it five 
they would be satisfied, and then Otis sent for Mc- 
Arthur and Lawton and went to work; but he is 
slow/^ I don’t know how much longer Dan talked, 
but I went to sleep and dreamed of my luxurious 
apartments. I never had more beautiful dreams, but 
morning came and with the first installment came 
summons to my duties, made bearable only by my 
only friend Dan. I wonder where he is. 


LETTER NUMBER THIRTEEN. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

The way of the transgressor is hard, but it seems 
to me that the way of Tom Clingstone, who hasnT 
knowingly transgressed any law of the land, is about 
even up with the worst of the bunch. One thing 
I am sure of, however; my eyes are opened and I 
see things clearer than I once did. Some time ago 
I wrote you that I had lost confidence in women, and 
my confidence in men has been so shaken that I 
hardly know as I will ever trust any one again. It 
seems a hard thing to say, but after you have my 
experience for the past month, perhaps you will agree 
with me. When I wrote you before, I had every 
confidence in Dan Hornbeam, but I was mistaken 
in him, and this is the way I found him out : 

One evening shortly after writing you my last let- 
ter and mailing it, finding it was eleven o’clock, I 
crept up to the barn loft and went to bed. Thinking 
over what Dan had told me, I dropped asleep, to 
dream of the beautiful side of my case which I could 
not seem to see with my eyes open. I must have 


92 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


been asleep about two hours, when I was rudely 
aroused and found myself confronted by two police- 
men, who ordered me to dress at once. To say I 
was confused, doesn’t begin to tell it, but as I had 
decided some days before to follow Dan’s advice and 
take things as they come, I said nothing, but began 
to dress in a dazed sort of a way. 

While I was dressing, the officers were looking 
through the loft, and, could I believe my eyes, they 
found bolts of silk, watches, diamonds and the good 
Lord only knows what else. Out from under my cot, 
which you remember Dan told me, ‘‘was worth more 
money than any bed in Omaha,” they took the richest 
of the goods. I made just one exclamation of sur- 
prise, and one of the officers said: “Shut up, young 
man ; don’t try to run any innocence on us ; it won’t 
work, and will be the harder for you in the end.” So 
I took his advice and kept quiet. As soon as I was 
dressed, I was handcuffed, and one of the officers took 
me to the station. Just thing of it — me, Tom Cling- 
stone, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, with handcuffs on ! 

When we got to the police station I was asked a 
few questions, and then the handcuffs were taken off 
and I was put in a big cell, with about fifteen of the 
worst looking bums and tramps it has ever been my 
luck to see. I was not much surprised to find among 
the crowd my old friend Dan, also Freckles and Bute. 


, TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 93 

When I saw the stolen articles in my room, the whole 
thing was so plain to me, that I wondered that I 
had not seen through it before. The friends I had 
taken up with were just a lot of thieves, and Dan was 
the leader. When I realized how things stood, and 
before I arrived at the station, I thought I could kill 
Dan, but no one could be mad at Dan long. He is 
too good-natured. 

As soon as I was in the cage with the rest and the 
door shut on me, Dan came forward and taking me 
by the hand, said: Welcome to our private apart- 
ments, old boy; Freckles was just saying that he 
thought you would drive around to see us, as soon 
as you found where we were located. Come over 
to our side of the parlor and we will provide you with 
one of our softest divans. It will not be as rich a bed 
as you are in the habit of sleeping on, Tom, but it has 
the elements of more sociability.” With this he led 
me over to where the other fellows were, kicked a 
drunk out of a place beside of Bute and we all lay 
down together. I hadn’t said a word, I couldn’t, but 
Dan was full of talk and as soon as we got straight- 
ened out, he said, *‘You never have done any time, 
have you, Tom?” '‘No.” “I thought not, but all 
things come to those who wait, and perhaps your 
chance is near to do a little time. Of course you 
know I will do what I can to keep you from it, but 


94 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


you may have to, for some of the judges here in 
Omaha do not have a very good opinion of my 
veracity. And now Tom, let me give you a little 
piece of advice. Don’t fool any more time in bad 
company. I have tried it and it doesn’t pay, so you 
take the benefit of my advice and keep clear of it. 
With me, it is different, a little excitement helps me 
xOut, and if the time isn’t too long that they deal out to 
me, it’s all right, for it gives me a better chance to 
think and plan, but you are different. Tom, you 
would never make a successful knave, you are not 
bright enough.” 

I felt too bad to talk, so I let Dan talk me to sleep 
again. The next morning we were all brought before 
the judge, and strange as it may appear, the boys 
all said I was not in the steal, and although the judge 
took some stock in what they said and let me off, 
he did it with the promise that I should leave town 
inside of twenty-four hours. The other three boys 
were sent back to jail to appear later before another 
court, as near as I could find out, but you can just 
bet, I did not need any twenty-four hours to get out 
of a town that had come so near furnishing me with 
free board and lodging. 

As soon as I was out on the street and realized 
that I was free, I started on foot in the opposite di- 
rection from the restaurant. I say I started on foot. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


95 


but I don’t know how else I could have started, for 
I was broke, and all the clothes I had in the world 
were on my back. I did not look to see which way 
I was going, my only thought being to get out of the 
town where the people had misjudged me so thor- 
oughly. I did not run for I realized that I had a long 
way to go and that I could get over more ground 
by a steady walk. It was about eleven o’clock when 
I left the court-room, and it was sundown when I 
slacked my pace and allowed myself to think of some- 
thing to eat. It looked as though I would have to go 
without supper, or beg, but I was saved from either 
one, for in a few moments, I came upon a couple of 
tramps who were just starting in to get supper by 
the side of a stream. My hunger made me bold and 
I offered to get the meal ready, if I could be allowed 
to share it with them. The offer was accepted, for 
they had begged more than they could eat, and were 
not averse to employing a servant on my terms. 

After I had the meal ready we sat down on the 
ground and ate together, and without a question it 
was the sweetest meal I ever ate. They were a queer 
pair, these new found friends of mine, and they made 
lots of sport of their ability to hire a servant. It 
seems they had been in this section of the country 
about as long as they thought it wise to stay, and had 
decided to steal a ride on a freight train that very 


96 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


night, to^ome place further West. I accepted their 
invitation to go with them, as my desire was to put 
more distance between myself and Omaha. I thought 
they would teach me how to get away and then I 
would leave them, for I had found out by sad experi- 
ence that “a man is known by the company he keeps.” 
After supper, we w'ent down to the railroad station 
to wait for the freight train, but a passenger train 
coming along, we all three boarded the blind baggage 
and were soon putting miles between us and Omaha. 
At every station where the railroad men were looking 
for tramps, we would get off and then jump on again 
as the train started, but at last the conductor got mad 
and told the brakeman “to ride the blind baggage 
and get rid of us.” That knocked me out and I was 
left behind, but my two friends, just as the train got 
under good headway, caught hold of some rods un- 
der the cars and swung themselves on to the brake 
beams, and I was left alone. I wasn’t much sorry, for 
I was tired and worn out, and crawling into a lumber 
yard near by, I was soon sound asleep, dreaming of 
the home I once had and of the pies my Ma made. 

When I awoke the next morning the sun was high 
in the heavens. Not wishing to be seen hiding in a 
lumber yard, I got outside the place and took a look at 
the village. It was a nice little place, but I was hun- 
gry and I tramped along, trying to get up courage 


. TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 97 

enough to ask for something to eat. I had made up 
my mind to call at the next house I came to and 
offer to work for my dinner, when I heard a woman 
scream, and it was no cheap scream either. Then 
I saw a horse coming on a dead run ; he was hitched 
to a carriage, and in the carriage was the woman of 
the scream, also a man. "Here is the chance to 
earn my dinner,” said I, and stepping aside, as though 
to let the horse pass, I swung around, grabbed a part 
of the harness and the next instant I was astride of 
the animal. The reins had broken, but I pulled my- 
self towards his neck and catching hold of his nose, 
I shut off his wind. This was an old trick that I had 
learned a long time before and much easier than it 
looks. When the horse stopped, he fell, and as I had 
gotten somewhat mixed up in the harness, I was 
partially under him when he fell. I clung to his nose 
however, until assistance arrived, and then I fainted. 
I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when 
I came to I heard some one say: ‘Tut him on the 
stretcher and carry him to my house; he has saved 
both our lives and there is nothing too good for him.” 
Dad told me once, “that when I had nothing particu- 
lar to say, I had best keep still,” and as I had never 
acted on his advice before, I decided to commence 
right then. 

They carried me to Mr. Dean’s house, this was the 


98 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


man’s name whose horse I had stopped, and who, 
with his daughter, was out driving when the accident 
occurred. They put me to bed and the doctor came. 
I knew I did not need any doctor, but I thought best 
to let him find that out, so I kept still and this is what 
I heard. The doctor, after poking me in my joints : 
‘'He doesn’t seem to be hurt externally, no bones 
broken that I can see.” Mr, Dean : “Do all you can 
for him, doctor ; he is a brave young man and he must 
not be the loser for what he did for Betty and me.” 
Betty, just coming into the room: “Will he live, 
doctor? O, I hope he will, it would be awful if he 
should die for us and we never have a chance to thank 
him. Is he nice looking?” The doctor: “Well, 
Betty, he might have taken a prize in a baby show, but 
you know, they change wonderfully after that.” 

This was getting a little too hard for me, besides 
I was hungry, so I groaned and turned so I could 
open my eye and see the girl who was standing in the 
doorway. Say! but she was a dream, but she van- 
ished as I moved. I was sorry for a moment that 
I had sworn off on women. I opened my eyes then 
and Mr. Dean said: “Thank God, he is coming to 
himself,” and I wished to goodness that I was com- 
ing to someone else, for as Tom Clingstone, I had 
never seemed to be a success. “What do you want, 
my son?” said Mr. Dean. And in spite of my resolu- 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


99 


tions not to speak, I answered, “Something to eat/’ 
For three days I was in a sort of a heaven with all I 
wanted to eat, bathed, and redressed in some cast- 
off clothes of Charlie Dean’s, the son who was off 
at college, and by the way, these cast-off clothes were 
far ahead of anything I had ever owned and made me 
look quite the gentleman. I overcame my dislike 
to women enough to let Betty comb my hair, which 
she said “was the most beautiful she ever saw.” No 
one ever told me that before, but now as I look at 
myself in the glass, I guess she is about right. 

I am almost sorry I ever said I would never take 
any more stock in women, for she is just all right. I 
would like to describe her to you, but I don’t suppose 
it would interest you, but if any man would let her 
stand in a street car he would be mean enough to 
steal sheep. Mr. Dean owns the best lumber yard 
here, and after I had played off sick as long as I 
dared to, I went to work for him. I keep the books 
and do some of the selling and am getting along 
all right. Dan used to say “that my feet did not 
track,” but I am training them and taking better care 
of my personal appearance. I won’t own that Betty 
or the thought of her has anything to do with it, but 
I may make a man of myself yet ; who knows? 


L«fC 


LETTER NUMBER FOURTEEN. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

I have so much to tell you that I hardly know 
where to commence. I have heard it said that 
some time in the life of every man the chance comes 
to him to make something of himself, and if he loses 
that chance or lets it go by without catching on, his 
chances are slim for ever getting another one. I 
heard this a long time ago at a lecture given in a 
schoolhouse back in Hardacre Corners, and I have 
often thought of it and wondered if my chance would 
ever come. I have stopped wondering, for I am sure 
the chance is here. I have gotten hold of the chance 
and I am going to hang to it with all my strength, 
and say! my strength is no small item, for since I 
have been away from Illinois, I have thickened up 
and am running pretty strong to muscle. Do you 
know, I am sort o’ proud of that muscle of mine. 
Betty talks of my size and strength, and how I threw 
the horse, to everybody she sees and it makes me 
blush sometimes, but I don’t say it is not pleasant 
to hear. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


101 


I am still boarding at the house of my employer, 
Mr. Dean, and, of course, I see lots of his daughter, 
Betty. Now, don’t think I am going to break my 
word and fall in love again. I have gotten beyond 
that foolishness, I hope. T know that twenty-one 
years of age, or nearly twenty-two, as I am now, 
doesn’t seem very old to put away all thoughts of love, 
but I have a future to work out and I am going to 
work it out alone. While I am writing of Betty, I 
am impressed to say a few things of her just to let 
you know how different she is from other girls. She 
is bright, with ever ready wit, and besides this, she is 
such a sweet looking girl. In reading over these last 
two sentences I begin to feel discouraged about being 
able to describe her. You will say that that same de- 
scription will fit thousands of girls in Chicago, but I 
want to tell you that another girl like Betty doesn’t 
live. Let me try another way to describe her. She is 
not tall, neither is she short. She is just the right 
height. She is neither stout nor very slim. In fact, 
she is just about the right size. She is neither a 
blonde nor a brunette. Her hair is brown and silky, 
and her complexion is — is — v^^ell, it’s just right, and 
as for features; how can I describe her features? 
She is just a dream, and that is all I am going to try 
to say about her. 

I want to tell you a. little something about my- 


102 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


self, and how I am hanging on to my chance. When 
I landed into the good graces of this family by stop- 
ping the runaway, I came up minus a suit of clothes, 
or so nearly so that another one had to be furnished. 
I was furnished with a suit from the cast-off wardrobe 
of Charlie Dean, and it was not more than a week 
before I dropped to the fact that Charlie must have 
been as much as two sizes smaller than me when he 
wore them and much more of a dude than I ever was. 
Mr. Dean seemed to have noticed it about the same 
time, as he invited me down to the clothing store and 
selected a business suit for me and had it charged to 
himself. He did the right thing for me and fitted me 
out from hat to shoes. Of course, I had something 
to say about the styles, but I just told the store man 
on the quiet to use his judgment and fit me out with 
the things I would look the best in. The result was 
that when I got my new clothes on I will bet my own 
Ma would not have known me. Do you know, that 
suit of clothes raised me about seventy-five feet in 
my own estimation. When I went in to dinner that 
day Betty was waiting for me. Usually I don’t see 
her at noon, for Mr. Dean goes to dinner first and I 
usually eat alone, after Mr. Dean comes back to the 
office, but, as I said, Betty was waiting for me. I 
could feel that her eyes were upon me as I came up 
the walk, and no man ever felt prouder than I. As 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


103 


I sat down to the table Betty looked me over again, 
and then the strangest thing happened. She burst 
out laughing, and laughed until I thought she would 
have a fit. Her mother came in to find out what the 
matter was, and Betty could not tell her. Talk about 
your peals of laughter. There was peals upon peals, 
until it seemed as though the whole house were filled 
with them. Somehow I did not feel like laughing. 
I felt that there must be something wrong about me, 
and I looked myself over, and this seemed to be a 
signal for more peals. Betty is sharp. She saw that 
I was getting more or less confused, and she re- 
strained herself from further laughter, and said: 

‘‘Please, Tom, don’t get vexed at me, but as I saw 
you come in looking so nice in your new suit, I could 
not help but think of how you looked in that short 
sleeved coat and those high water pants of Charlie’s 
and I couldn’t help it,” and with this she gave us a 
few more peals. She got over the last attack quite 
readily, and her mother told her she ought to be 
ashamed of herself. This I could not allow, and I 
said: 

“Mrs. Dean, do not say that to her. She should 
be commended for resisting the temptation she must 
have had in not laughing at me when I had those 
clothes on.” I guess Uiis must have been a joke, for 
then they both laughed. 


104 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


It is embarrassing to eat when anyone is looking 
at you ; at all events, it is for me, and as both mother 
and daughter sat and watched me all through' the 
meal, I was somewhat nervous on account of it. Mr. 
Dean is quite a graceful man, and I thought ^^now 
that I am dressed so nicely, I must be grace- 
ful also,” so I tried to get up from the table as I had 
seen him. I must have made a ^^miscue” somewhere, 
for my feet got tangled and the next I knew I was 
lying on the floor. As I fell I caught the tablecloth 
and a few of the dishes came down on me. A tumbler 
half filled with water capsized into my face. When I 
got on to my feet I felt as though I were disgraced 
for all time, but Betty came to my relief. She told 
me of the same kind of an accident that happened 
to some one she had heard of a long time before, and 
then she asked me if I would promise to forgive her 
for laughing about the clothes. It almost made the 
tears come into my eyes to see how penitent the dear 
girl was, and I said: 

‘^Miss Betty, I have nothing to forgive. I have made 
up my mind that some night when I get through 
work and I don’t have anything else to do, I will 
go out in the woods and have a good laugh about 
those clothes myself, and l ean never thank you 
enough for not laughing at them when I had them 
on. Talk about forgiving you, I could not think of 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


105 


your being under obligations to me, but you can rest 
assured that there is nothing on earth I would not 
do for you.” 

“Is that a fact, Tom?” 

“It is a fact ! you just try me.” 

“And will you be sure and do anything I ask you 
to?” 

“Go on, Miss Betty,” and do you know the thought 
occurred to me “suppose she should ask me to marry 
her,” and the cold sweat stood out in big drops on 
my forehead. 

“Well, what is it, Miss Betty?” 

“You have promised, you know.” 

“Yes, go on.” 

‘‘Well, Tom, I want you to go to dancing school.” 

“To dancing school !” 

“Yes, to dancing school.” 

“With you?” 

“With me ! Oh, no, I am not going.” 

“But why must I go to dancing school ?” 

“Because you have promised to, and, you know, 
you would do anything for me.” 

And with this she slipped out of the room and was 
gone, leaving me to wonder what it all meant. 

Say, that wasn’t sweat on my forehead after all. It 
was some of that water that fell on me and which I 
failed to wipe off. Perhaps I would not have felt so 


106 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


bad after all if she had asked me to marry her, but, 
of course, I am glad she didn’t. 

At first I thought I would not pay any attention 
to the dancing school business, but I decided that I 
would not be living up to my part of the agreement 
if I shirked, so I hunted up the only dancing master 
in the town, and finding he was just about starting 
a class of beginners, I enrolled my name with the rest, 
and since then I have had three dancing lessons ; that 
is to say, that is what Mr. Slocumb, the dancing mas- 
ter, calls them, but I don’t see much dancing about 
a row of people standing up and making jerkwater 
steps across the floor. I always knew I had been well 
supplied with hands and feet, but I never realized 
how little control I had of my feet until I tried to 
guide them with my mind. Then to make it worse, 
Mr. Slocumb told me that I must not look at them. 
A girl spoke up and said : “He has got to look some- 
where,” and then they all laughed. The dancing mas- 
ter got red in the face and reprimanded the class. He 
looked savage at the girl that spoke out, but I felt 
like thanking her for standing up for me. I kicked 
another fellow in the shins by accident the last night 
we were up there and he limped down to the other 
end of the line. I think he put on a good deal of it. 
I am interested in this thing, and I am going to learn 
it if the floor holds out. The teacher told me I had 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


107 


better practice what spare time I had down at the 
lumber yard, and I find that isn’t such a bad idea. I 
went through all the steps down in the shingle shed 
the other day while Deacon Jones was deciding 
whether he would order the best red cedar shingles 
for the widow Holcomb’s house, or put on number 
one pine and make her think they were just as good. 
I had just gotten through with the steps when he or- 
dered up the number one pine, and he eased his con- 
science by saying that he took the job pretty cheap 
anyhow. 

It isn’t all smooth sailing here in Coldeck, though. 
Some of the young men are pretty wild and like to 
be considered tough. Some of the tough ones seemed 
to take a dislike to me and would go out of their way 
to make it unpleasant for me. For a time I got 
along without any trouble, but one day when a couple 
of them were trying to pick a fuss with me, they made 
the mistake of bringing in the name of Betty Dean. 
Well, the result was I spent that night in the town 
cage and the two toughs went to the hospital. They 
are out now, but they don’t look very pretty yet. Mr. 
Dean got me out the next morning, and as soon as 
he found out how it came about, he made the Sheriff 
apologize for arresting me. Mr. Dean has never 
opened his head about it since and I felt a little wor- 
ried about it until I found out that Betty cried be- 


108 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


cause I lay in jail on her account, and then I made 
up my mind that I hadn’t made any very bad break 
anyhow. 

The sequel to this possibly does not show up quite 
so well in my favor, but as I am alive to tell the story, 
you have no need to be alarmed. The complete rout 
that I gave those two toughs, added to the fact that 
the rest of the fresh kids fought shy of me, must have 
swelled my head a little, for I carried a noticeable 
swagger for a number of days. One day Mike 
O’Brien, who keeps the blacksmith shop a little dis- 
tance from the lumber yard, called me in and told me 
that he liked to see a good plucky kid, but that he 
hated to see me make a “mark” of myself. I told 
him I was well able to take care of myself, and that 
I had proved it. One word brought on another, until 
he ofYered to bet ^me ten dollars to one that he could 
whip me in five minutes. I laid my dollar on the 
anvil, and he covered it with a ten and handed it to 
his helper. I smiled at the easy way I was to make 
ten dollars, for Mike is about thirty years old and 
weighs about 140 pounds to my 180. Besides, I am 
much taller and longer armed. In fact, I was sure I 
had every advantage over him. The helper shut the 
outside door and Mike and I took our positions in the 
center of the shop, where he usually shoes horses. 
Mike gave the word for the fight to begin, and I 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


109 


started for my victim. Three separate times I re- 
member of picking myself up from among the old 
horseshoes, dirt and scraps cf iron, but the fourth 
time I went down I lay still long enough to tell Mike 
that the dollar was his, and that I would like to have 
him bring in a mule and show me how he did it. Then 
I got up and shook hands with the best-hearted little 
Irishman I ever met. He did not want to keep the 
dollar, but I told him I would never speak to him 
again if he refused it. We have had two or three 
friendly rounds since. In fact, I am taking three 
kinds of lessons now; dancing, boxing and keeping 
a civil tongue in my head. 


I 


LETTER NUMBER FIFTEEN. 

Coldeck, Nebraska. 

A month seems a short time, but a whole lot of 
things can happen in a month. Besides this, there are 
many things working out our destiny that we do not 
know of, and when these things culminate, we think 
there has more happened in a given time than there 
really has. After reading over the above, I cannot 
help but feel a little proud of myself and my ability 
to properly express my thoughts upon paper. Of 
course, there is a shadow of doubt about my having 
gotten all of those words in their proper places, but 
it sounds well to me and the chances are, readers 
who find mistakes will have charity enough to for- 
give me. 

As the lecturer says, we will now take up the thread 
of our discourse. You will remember, it is now about 
six months since I left my native town of Hardacre 
Corners, and that I left \vith only one thought in my 
mind — that was to get out of the reach of Sally Ann 
Perkins, a red-headed fright that wanted to marry me. 
Since that time, and until this month, I have only 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


Ill 


had two letters from home ; one from Ma, which was 
very cool, and one from Dad, which was very sarcas- 
tic. You will no doubt be as surprised as I was to 
know that I received another letter from Ma the first 
of this month, which seemed more like her old self, 
and also one from Dad, which has some news and 
more surprises in it for me. Ma’s letter is sacred, 
and I will keep it to myself, but I send you Dad’s 
letter, as in no other way could you understand it: 

“Thomas Clingstone, Esq., Coldeck, Nebraska. — 
My Only Son : You are no doubt surprised to know 
that I have your address, and perhaps you will be 
more surprised to know that I knew of all your doings 
in Omaha. A friend of mine, who is in the lumber 
business there and who saw you with me at the 
Omaha exposition, saw you when you first landed in 
Omaha, and wrote me about it. After that, I kept 
track of you through the police. This was easy for 
them, as you trained while in the city with a class 
of people that the police were interested in. Your 
record since you started out for yourself has been 
somewhat varied, and society in general would not 
look upon you as a howling success. Let me recount 
one side of it, and it is as other people would see it : 
In the first place, you went daft over an addle-pated 
adventuress ; then, as other cowards do, you ran away 
and left your Ma and me to bear the disgrace of 


112 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


the thing. After this, you fell among thieves, and 
they used you for their own benefit, finally landing 
you in jail with themselves. It was the chief of police 
that was the means of getting you out, and not Dan 
Hornbeam, as you supposed. Since accident placed 
you among decent people, you could not resist the 
temptation to fight and get arrested. Now, Tom, 
that is a pretty poor record, but you have a little 
something to your credit. You have always shown 
a willingness to work at whatever you could get to 
do, and even the thieves who were your companions 
could see that you would not be dishonest. It is for 
these good qualities that I am willing to own you for 
my son and if you will improve the chance that has 
now opened to you, I will still have some hopes of you 
and your Ma shall knit you a pair of woolen socks 
for Christmas. 

'T. S. If you ever get money enough to come 
back to Hardacre Corners, you need have no fears 
of Miss Perkins, for she married a third-rate preacher, 
who has a little congregation down at Bells Corners, 
about a month after you left. I understand she runs 
the preacher, the church and the Corners, but there 
are people who doubt the lady’s piety being on a very 
high plane.” 

Now, what do you think of that for a letter? Of 
course, I am pleased to know that I am still his only 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


113 . 


son. In fact, I should be surprised had it been any 
different. I realize the fact, too, that my record does 
not show up quite as well as it might, but I am 
glad that the old man finds something to commend. 
I don't just understand what he means about Ma 
and the socks, for he knows that, of all things on 
earth, I hate those socks my Ma makes. They are 
as thick as a board and I have to wear number ten 
shoes to cover them, when eights will fit me when 
I buy store socks, but Dad is funny sometimes ; per- 
haps that is one of his jokes. Say, but isn't it a joke 
about that Perkins girl marrying the preacher? He 
will want all of his faith in God to get along with that 
peach. If I had his address, I think I would write him 
a letter of congratulations and ask him if he did not 
think he should send me a “Ten" for relinquishing 
my claims upon her. Those claims were not easy to 
relinquish either, if I remember right. 

But I must tell you how I am progressing in my 
studies, for I remember I told you I was taking les- 
sons in boxing, dancing and keeping a civil tongue 
in my head. Mike O’Brien says that the better boxer 
a man is, the easier it is for him to keep a civil tongue 
in his head; that it is the empty barrel that makes the 
most noise, and that' the little man is the most likely 
to go about with a chip on his shoulder. I guess 
Mike is all right in his philosophy and I propose to 


H4 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


agree with him until I can get on to those quick turns 
of his which always end by laying me in the dirt, with 
him standing over me telling me where I pushed up 
the wrong guard, or something in that line. When 
it comes to the dancing lessons, I am sure I have 
made a whole lot of improvement. We used to line up 
each side of the room, the boys on one side and the 
girls on the other, and spend all of our time counting 
and taking steps. Now we mix up with the girls a 
little, and do the two-step and waltz. When I first 
commenced I thought I never would get those feet 
of mine around on time, but I am now getting pretty 
fair control of them, and, while it is true that occa- 
sionally one of them gets unruly and shoots off in 
the wrong direction, as a general thing I keep them 
within bounds. 

I have written this much without saying a word 

about my employer's daughter, Betty Dean. This, 

* 

of course, shows that I can control my pen, if I do 
not always control my mind. Of course I am not in 
love withBetty Dean, for those things have gone out 
of my life, but, at the same time, no one who knows 
her could help but think of her. I have puzzled my 
head often as to why she wanted me to attend dancing 
school. If she had been going herself I would per- 
haps have thought it was because she took an in- 
terest in me, but why she should want me to go, when 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


115 


she is not to be there, it is more than 1 can fathom. 
I asked her point blank one day why she had asked me 
to go to dancing school, and her answer was that 
that was a secret that could only be divulged at the 
end of the school. Betty is very nice to me, and 
there are times when I am inclined to think she 
was looking into the future when she asked me 
to take dancing lessons. I had thought the matter 
over a good deal and one day I thought to draw her 
out on the subject and commenced in this way: 

“Miss Betty, do you know the Darling girls that 
live over on the West Side?” 

“Yes, Tom, I have met them and they are very nice 
girls, but why do you ask?” 

“Oh ! nothing particular, only I think Mattie Dar- 
ling is rather nice looking, and I wondered if you 
knew her.” 

“Mattie ? That is the oldest one. Why, she is con- 
sidered quite a beauty in this town, Tom. Have you 
succeeded in interesting her ?” 

“What do you mean. Miss Betty, by my interesting 
her? I don’t think she would go around a four-acre 
block to get away from me, or to keep from meeting 
me, but I am not sure that I have interested her 
much yet. I just wanted to ask your opinion of her.” 

“Oh, I have the best of an opinion of her, Tom, for 
she is not only good-looking, but she is bright and 


116 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


interesting. Besides, her father owns a nice farm 
and is quite well-off in money and stocks of various 
kinds. She would make you a fine wife, and you 
would make no mistake if you would cast your line 
in that direction.” 

“But, Miss Betty, I am not casting my line any- 
where, but would you want me to marry her? Now, 
be honest with me.” 

“Well, let me see. I don’t think I would want 
you to marry her; not just yet. You see, Tom, 
father thinks you are splendid about the yard and 
a good hand with the books, and if you should marry 
Mattie it might be that Mr. Darling would think he 
needed you about the farm, and in that case father 
would be obliged to hunt up another man.” 

“But, Miss Betty, leaving your father and Mr. 
Darling both out of the whole business, how would 
you feel about it?” 

“Gh, I would think it was just lovely, for I dote 
on weddings. Would you have a dress suit and white 
gloves, and would she be dressed all in white, with 
orange blossoms in her hair?” 

“Hold on. Miss Betty, you are way ahead on this 
romance. I am afraid I shall be obliged to disap- 
point you about the wedding, for as yet I have not 
even a speaking acquaintance with the lady in ques- 
tion.” 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


117 


“Is that so? lam very much disappointed. I had 
just made up my mind to being an invited guest at a 
grand wedding, and here you go and spoil it all by 
telling me there is nothing in it, but tell me, what did 
you mean by asking me about the girl, anyway?” 

“I don’t hardly know. Miss Betty. I wanted to say 
something and I happened to think of her and that 
was all there was to it.” 

“And do you get so hard up for subjects when 
you are with me? I must say I feel flattered.” 

“Now, Miss Betty, don’t talk that way. I am sure 
there is plenty to talk to you about without talking 
of Mattie Darling, or any other girl. I am sorry I 
spoke of her, and never will again if you say so.” 

At this Betty laughed and said: “Why should I 
care whom you talk about, but you make me laugh, 
for you are such a paradox. You are dense and, 
at the same time, transparent. Ta ta, Tom, get some 
one to introduce you to Miss Darling, and then I 
will talk to you some more.” 

With this she left me, and I would give all the 
money I have saved up if I knew what she was driv- 
ing at. I sat up half of that night asking myself if 
I cared anything for Betty Dean, but I don’t. I set- 
tled that, but there is another, a more serious ques- 
tion. Does she think anything of me? If she does 
I arn truly sorry for her, but how can I find out ? I 


118 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


thought to find out when I spoke to her of Mattie 
Darling, but the ruse did not work. Now, Mr. Edi- 
tor, what do you think, and if she does think any- 
thing of me, what is my duty in the matter? Should 
I leave my position and start anew in another place, 
or should I break all of my resolves and marry? 
Why can’t girls be honest anyway, and not beat about 
the bush? 


4 


LETTER NUxMBER SIXTEEN. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

Another Christmas has come and gone, and this 
is the first one I ever spent away from home. I did 
not miss the old home as much as I expected to, and 
the reason, most likely, lies in the fact that the people 
at my new home did so much to make me feel that 
I was one of them. This reminds me of a few 
lines I once wrote about girls, for it was the girls 
that made my Christmas so pleasant : 

Stranger beauties never grew. 

With their faces framed in curls; 

And I loved them ere I knew, 

Time was wasted with those girls. 

Perhaps you do not understand this, but I do. 
You see, I wrote it one time after spending all of 
my extra change on two sisters one evening at a 
church social. I inadvertently let them know that 
I had spent my last cent. They shook their curly 
heads at me and excused themselves. Since then 
every time a girl decides to be a sister to me, I have 
gone off by myself and repeated those lines. In all of 
my experience I don't think I was ever placed in as 


120 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


peculiar a position as I am now, and I am forced to 
improvise this: 

Oh! woman, lovely woman, 

On that day when you appear 
Before the bar of God, 

You’ll have cause to drop a tear. 

Thinking of the past, you’ll fear 
The Maker’s chastening rod. 

Of course, all of this dropping off into rhyme 
means something you have already guessed. I know 
I shall be obliged to tell you all about it, for in no 
other way would you realize just how I am placed. 
Betty Dean, the girl I saved by catching the run- 
away horse, is the cause of my unsettled state of 
mind just at this present time. When I came to this 
town I thought I had decided that for all time I 
would never trouble myself about any girl again, and, 
as you must know, I have fought against it the best 
I knew, but it is all off now. I could no more help 
loving Betty Dean than I could help breathing. She 
i*s as beautiful as a dream, to commence with, and 
besides that, she is so kind to every one that her 
friends comprise all that know her. I said she was 
kind to every one. Well, I guess she means to be, 
but perhaps she doesn’t know just how much I dwell 
on all she says and does. Sometimes she will put 
herself out to say something nice to me, and my 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


121 


hopes will be raised to the seventh heaven of bliss, 
but just as I get ready to say something for myself, 
she says something that acts as a wet blanket on a 
small fire, for it simply puts me out. 

Betty Dean, however, is not the cause of all my 
troubles, but to give you a better understanding of 
them I must take you back to the Saturday night 
before Christmas. Charlie Dean was home from 
school and brought a friend with him, by the name 
of Clay Sterling, so the boys and myself, with Mr. 
and Mrs. Dean and a few relatives of the family, 
made quite a lively party at the Christmas tree that 
had been fixed up for that evening. As we were 
mostly grown people, Mr. Dean said he would take 
the place of Santa Claus and give out the presents. 
We had a jolly time all around, and we all got presents. 
I was well supplied, receiving something from each 
member of the family. I knew where all my pres- 
ents came from except one, and that was a sofa 
cushion. It was a beauty, and had cost some one 
a lot of work. It was brought to the house by a 
boy that no one seemed to know, and attached to it 
was a note on which was written “P'or Mr. Thomas 
Clingstone.'’ Inside the note was written, in a beau- 
tiful hand : 

*‘Dear Sir : Please accept this pillow from an ad- 
miring friend. You are my ideal of a man, and were 


122 


TOM CLINGSTONE S LETTERS. 


it not for a custom that deprives my sex of the right 
to speak, I should certainly have made myself known 
to you before this. As it is, I can only admire you 
at a distance, unless you prove yourself a true knight 
and search me out.’^ 

Say, Mr. Editor, you don't know how funny that 
note made me feel. I did not intend to show it to 
anyone, but they all commenced to quiz me about 
having a sweetheart and keeping it to myself. When 
I told them I did not know whom the pillow and note 
were from I could see that they did not believe me, so 
in self-defense I showed the note. I don't know 
whether I did the right thing or not, but I could 
not af¥ord to have my word doubted. It is a queer 
place to be in ; to be in love with one girl, and have 
another one in love with you, and at the same time 
not know who the girl is that is in love with you. 

To add to my complication of troubles, there seems 
to be an understanding of some kind between Betty 
and Mr. Clay Sterling that I am not at all pleased 
about. It seems that Clay has been here several times 
and makes himself quite at home in the family. He is 
an orphan, and has a snug little fortune in his own 
right, while I have nothing but my wages, and no 
prospects other than what I can work out by my 
own hands. He isn't built on the same plan as I 
am, and I could lick him hands down. I get a little 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


123 


satisfaction out of that, but girls are so stuck on 
money and style that if he is really after Betty, I 
am afraid my chances are not as good as his. 

Perhaps I might be a little cast down on the whole 
matter if it were not for the girl that is in love with 
me, and whom I have never been able to find out, but 
the thought that some one appreciates my worth, 
even if I don’t know her, holds me together. Every 
time I go down street I feel that the unknown, as 
Betty calls her, may be watching me, and it braces 
me up. I hope she is good looking and lovable. 
Whoever she is, I cannot help but feel that she 
showed her good sense in falling in love with me. 
I would not let the folks at the house know, not for 
the world, how this whole thing bothers me, but they 
are always talking about it. A few days ago, Betty 
came into the lumber office to see her father, and the 
first thing she said to me was : 

‘'Well, Sir Knight, have you discovered the un- 
known yet?’’ 

“What do you mean. Miss Betty?” said I, making 
believe I did not know. 

“What do I mean? Why, the young lady who 
sent you that pillow, and that sweet note, of course.” 

“Oh! yes, I know now, but I am not hunting up 
people who write anonymous letters,” 

“But this case is different, Tom. Here is a young 


324 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


lady that is no doubt handsome and nice, who knows 
of no other way to address you, and she loves you, 
too, Tom, just think of that. Besides she may be 
rich and an extra good catch.” 

“Miss Betty,” said I, thinking to get in a good shot, 
“some people do not think as much of riches as some 
other people.” 

“So much the better, Tom, then you will not care 
whether the young lady has riches or not.” 

“Don’t you care for riches?” 

“Oh I yes, riches are all right if all of the other 
requirements are there.” 

“That means if the young man is tall, slim, good 
looking, and a law student?” 

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean, Tom, or 
what you are talking about, but if some one I did 
not know gave me such an evidence of love as a cer- 
tain young lady gave you, I should try and hunt 
them up right away. A loving heart is not found 
every day.” 

“Now, Miss Betty, suppose some one should tell 
you that they loved you, would not that be much 
better?” 

“Why, Tom, has some nice young lady told you 
that?” 

“No, I was only supposing the case. Suppose I 
should tell you that I love you?” 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


125 


“You suppose queer things, Tom. I could imagine 
you stopping a runaway horse, or a dozen of them, 
and I 'could imagine you knocking down a few men, 
just for the fun of the thing, but to think of your ever 
getting down on your knees ; putting your hands to- 
gether; rolling up your eyes, and telling a girl that 
you loved the ground she walked on, or that you 
could not live without her smile. Oh ! dear. Oh ! 
dear, it is really too rich,” and she went off into a 
paroxysm of mirth that was beyond anything I had 
ever heard before. 

Just at this moment, Mr. Dean came in. Betty 
was hanging onto her side and trying to stop laugh- 
ing. I was standing about five feet from her. If 
I looked as I felt, I would most likely have made a 
good artist’s model for a mule. Mr. Dean looked 
first at Betty and then at me, and back at Betty again. 
Then he said: 

“You seem to be having all the fun to yourself, 
Betty, while Tom looks as though he had been asked 
to address a camp-meeting and had forgotten his 
text. Why don’t you even the thing up, little girl?” 

The little girl got herself in check about this time, 
and said : “Oh I papa, it was so funny. I was trying 
to get Tom interested in his unknown friend, and 
he tried to make me believe he had forgotten all about 
her.” 


126 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


Say, but wasn’t I relieved. I thought for a moment 
she was going to give me away, but I might have 
known she wasn’t that kind of a girl. She is a 
trump, but I don’t understand her. The next day 
after Betty was at the office, I received a note 
through the mail which puzzled me a good deal. It 
was written in a strange hand and said: 

“Dear Mr. Clingstone : I hope you will not think 
me forward, but I very much desire to have a few 
words with you. However, I will leave it entirely 
with you and will arrange it in this way. To-morrow 
noon, when you leave the office for your dinner, you 
will pass the corner of Cary and Third streets. If 
you are willing that one who very much admires you 
shall have a few words with you, you will have in 
each hand, as you pass the corner mentioned, a white 
handkerchief. I will be anxiously watching, and if 
the white handkerchiefs are both shown, you can re- 
turn after dinner and I will be standing on the cor- 
ner, When I see you coming I will turn my back 
towards you and wait until you approach, and then, 
Oh! then, I hope to look into your eyes and there 
read your forgiveness for my forward action. Please 
grant the meeting, and until then, dearest, adieu.” 

There was no name signed to this note, and I was 
puzzled. At the same time, I felt that I was now to 
see the one who had declared her love for me, and it 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


127 


stirred me up quite a little. Perhaps, in my excite- 
ment, I for the time forgot my tender feeling for Miss 
Betty. I cannot say whether this was or was not so. 
The next morning I provided myself with two white 
handkerchiefs, and, although I had plenty to do all 
of the forenoon, I thought twelve o’clock would 
never come. As soon as the two hands came to- 
gether on the noon hour I was on my way to the 
corner mentioned. Just before I arrived at that 
point, I got out the two handkerchiefs, holding one 
in each hand, so as to make them show as much as 
possible. I walked past the appointed place with all 
the dignity I could command. I saw no one, but I 
knew I was being seen by one who appreciated me 
for myself, and it made me feel every inch a man. 

There was one thing that had troubled me. I had 
compared the writing of the note with the one that* 
came with the pillow on Christmas and found they 
were not at all alike, but I decided that as the girl 
was a little worried at herself for what she was do- 
ing, she had disguised her handwriting. 

But to go back to the eventful noon. I was so 
worked up over the matter that I ate but little din- 
ner, and Mrs. Dean desired to know if I were ailing 
in any way. I excused myself as soon as possible 
and went to my room ; put a little bear grease on my 
hair ; put on a new tie ; brushed off my clothes, and 


126 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


started out, with a wildly beating heart. As soon as 
I came in sight of the corner my heart beat wilder 
than ever, for there stood a sylph-like female figure, 
I could see that she was tall and slender; that she 
had on a gray dress, a tight fitting jacket, or coat, 
and a good sized hat, with a veil. I dared not run, 
but it seemed as though I could not get there quick 
enough to see what I felt sure I should find, a beau- 
tiful face. As I came up to her, I found enough of 
my voice to say: 

^Were you waiting for me, lady?’^ 

She did not speak, but turned towards me and 
raised her veil, discovering to me the blackest face 
I ever saw on a human being. I only remember to 
have cried out: ‘^Great heavens,’' and starting into 
a run, I never stopped until I had arrived at the 
office. 

Now, what do you think of that for luck? Of 
course, I can see through it all. This wretch was 
waiting there for some one, and my unknown friend 
was scared off, but better luck next time, I say. 
Don’t you? 


LETTER NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

It was very kind of you to write to me that letter ' 
and explain to me why I should not anticipate in the 
first of my letters what I had to tell in the last of 
them. I will try and be governed by what you have 
written me, but I think you are setting a ^man a 
mighty hard task, for if a fellow is in love, and things 
are coming his way, he feels something like a bottle 
of Mumm’s Extra Dry with the cork out, and he will 
run over at the mouth just as quick. 

Then again, if the same man gets up with a seal- 
brown taste in his mouth, and thinks about the way 
his best girl had turned him down the night before 
for some other chap, he at once thinks the world 
is against him, and you can^t expect to hear him 
whistling “I love my love in the morning” and put 
the same amount of soul in it that he would under 
other circumstances. 

I have watched and waited in vain for another let- 
ter to come from my unknown love, not because I 
care who or what she is, but just to have the satis- 


130 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


faction of proving that I could resist making a fool 
of myself, as I did the last time. What a jay I must 
have been walking by that corner with a handker- 
chief in each hand, just because some one, who 
would not sign their name, asked me in a letter to 
do it. I have been wondering lately if I will ever 
have the good sense that is generally attributed to 
geese, but it seems as though I could only see my 
shortcomings by looking backward, and that the 
knowledge of them does not help me as I run afoul 
of new propositions. 

From words that have been dropped occasionally, 
I have decided that the girl who loved me was a 
myth, and that, now that Clay Sterling and Charlie 
Dean have gone back to school, I will hear no more 
of the unknown. If it was Mr. Clay Sterling, I think 
I have evened up on him, and it happened in this 
way: Clay is a good skater, and he allowed no 
chance to get by without showing off his graces in 
that direction. Betty is a good skater, also, and 
Charlie Dean is very fair ; as for myself, I could beat 
them all out on distance, but because I cannot write 
my name on the ice and do a lot of fancy business. 
Clay was always inclined to show me off to disad- 
vantage before Betty when he could. 

One evening we were all out on the pond, with 
most of the young people of the town present. Clay 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


131 


was showing off his fancy skating to an admiring 
crowd when all at once, as I was about to ask Betty 
to skate with me, Clay slid in, took Betty's two 
hands, and they glided off from the rest of us. Now, 
what I know I should have done was to have taken 
some other girl and not minded about Clay and Betty, 
but that I could not do. This was about the fiftieth 
time that he had done something similar, and every 
time it drove me into the sulks. I turned and skated 
off by myself, taking an opposite direction and going 
around the island to the narrower body of water, 
a place where but few’ cared to go, unless after the 
coldest of weather, as it was so secreted as to be 
sheltered from the north winds, and was much less 
liable to be safe skating ground. 

I cared but little about the thickness of the ice; 
in fact, I was desperate. I wanted only a chance to 
do some daring deed, and to show that I was willing 
to do it, even if I lost my life in so doing. I skated 
around alone, and found to my surprise that the ice 
was perfectly safe, but there was an occasional air 
hole that must be avoided. Standing by one of these 
holes I thought how easy it- would be to end my 
misery, and perhaps I might have gotten up courage 
to have taken a cold bath had it not been that I 
heard two well-known laughs; one was the joyous 
laugh of Betty, the other the half sarcastic laugh of 


132 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


Clay Sterling. I felt that they had been talking of 
me, and it made me feel bitter. 

The thought came into my mind to do something 
devilish, but what? Then the desire came to steal 
the girl away from him, but how? Just then I heard 
a cracking in the ice, such as we often hear when 
there is not the least danger, but it was enough to 
give me an idea, and I cried out at the top of my 
voice: ‘'Thin ice! Thin ice! Separate at once; 
Betty, make for the shore; Clay, skate for the is- 
land.’* Quick as thought they separated, Betty mak- 
ing for the main land and I after her, intent on telling 
her the joke and leaving Clay in the lurch. Before 
I had overtaken her, however, an unearthly yell 
sounded on our ears. We looked around, but Clay 
was nowhere to be seen. He was down among the 
fishes, having slid into one of the numerous air holes 
that I had been examining. 

Perhaps you think I was scared, knowing as how 
I was in fault, but I was in my glory. Here was the 
kind of a chance I had been wanting. As we heard 
the yell Betty and I had just reached the bank. I 
caught her in my arms and seated her on the bank, 
saying to her : “Sit here and I will save him for you.” 
I could not help this little shot, even if Clay was 
taking a cold bath. 

Tearing a board from a fence near by, I was soon 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


133 


alongside of the hole where Clay had disappeared. I 
laid down the board and waited, knowing that my 
rival would come up where he went down, as there 
could be no current in the pond. This thought had 
no more occurred to me than I felt something di- 
rectly underneath me. I lost no time in investigating 
and made out, by reaching as far as I could under 
the ice, to grasp Clay by the hair. I pulled him out 
into the open and got his head above water, but it 
was no use, for he had already taken in too much 
water. He must be gotten out and that quickly. The 
board I brought answered a good purpose, as it kept 
the ice from breaking under me, and my extra strength 
served me a better purpose, as I was enabled to pull 
the young man out without help from any one. As 
I landed him on the ice I discovered Miss Betty 
standing within a few feet of me watching the whole 
thing. She had not said a word so far, but as I 
straightened up after pulling Clay out she said : 

“Tom, tell me what to do, quick. Will I go for 
some one, or stay by him? You know everything, 
Tom; tell me.” 

Now, what do you think of that? A woman that 
could see all of that and never scream once; brave 
enough to do anything, and calm enough to want 
to do only the right thing. Well, she did the right 
thing by doing nothing, for she gave me strength to 


134 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


do more. I picked up Mr. Clay Sterling and, throw- 
ing him over my shoulder, as though he had been a 
sheep pelt, I caught Betty by the hand and said: 
^‘Come.” 

In a minute we were skating faster than Betty ever 
skated before in her life, even if I did have one hundred 
and thirty pounds thrown over one shoulder. We 
had a mile or more to go to get to the other people 
on the pond, and my idea was to roll my patient on 
a barrel to get the water out of him, as soon as I got 
where the crowd was and where I could get help. 
But when we arrived there my shoulder had acted as 
a barrel to the extent that there was no water in 
him, and the air had been just cold enough to freeze 
his clothes. 

The boys relieved me of my burden ; wrapped him 
up in robes, bundled him into a sleigh and drove him 
home, Charlie Dean going with him, while Betty and 
I took off our skates and went home on foot. We 
did not say much at first. I was a little worried for 
fear they would find out that I had put a job on them, 
and I realized that if they did, nothing would prevent 
them from thinking that it was my intention to get ^ 
Clay into the air hole, when the fact of the case was 
I only wanted to get the girl away from him, just to 
make him ridiculous. I had succeeded beyond my 
wildest expectations, and, as I thought of what a 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


135 


figure he must have cut as I had him over my 
shoulder, I felt very much inclined to laugh. I 
checked myself and said: “I do hope Mr. Sterling 
is all right.” 

'‘So do I,” says Betty ; “but why are you especially 
anxious about him?” 

“Because I have been thinking about the whole 
thing, and especially of that ride he had, and I want 
to laugh so -bad.” . 

“Tom, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk 
that way about anyone that has been unfortunate. I 
have a mind not to speak to you again.” 

“Excuse me. Miss Betty. I did not know you were 
so much in love with him. Would you have put on 
black in case I had not fished him out?” 

Just at this moment I received a stinging slap 
across my face, and Betty left me and ran like a deer 
for the house. A moment later I found her in her 
mother’s arms, crying as though her heart would 
break. What she was crying about no one seemed to 
know. Clay had been put to bed, and the doctor had 
pronounced him all right. 

Soon the lower part of the house was crowded with 
people, who wanted to know how it all happened. 
Clay had told them that I had saved his life ; Betty 
had only cried, and I had nothing to say. The next 
day I found myself a hero. Betty and Clay had told 


136 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


the whole story, and I lost nothing by the telling. 
They say the Lord takes care of His own, but as I 
feel a little delicacy about claiming to belong to the 
Lord, I have thought that the old Nick takes care of 
his people also. 

The fact of my pulling Clay out of the pond has 
been quite an ad. for Mr. Dean’s lumber yard, and 
farmers that have always traded down at the next 
town come and buy here now, just to have' a little talk 
about it, and to see the man who could skate a mile 
with a man on his shoulder. Mr. Dean has raised 
my wages, and says I have given him a pointer on 
advertising. Mrs. Dean pets me, and tells me how 
proud she is of me, but I am wearing the same sized 
hat I did last month. I don’t know what would hap- 
pen, though, if I could capture Betty as completely 
as I seem to have the rest of the family. Even Charlie 
Dean, who did not notice me at all at first, has decided 
that my acquaintance is worth cultivating. Betty 
alone stands aloof from me. She has said but little 
since the night of the pond experience, but she looks 
at me so strangely that I am completely at my wit’^ 
end to know what to think. 

I have been thinking lately ''What fools these mor- 
tals be,” not as I have thought about Miss Betty, Oh ! 
no, but as I have thought of how that ice accidenf 
put me in condition to make acquaintances wherever 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 137 

I wanted to. People speak to me now who never 
recognized me before, and at the dancing school I 
am quite a lion. 

Do you know, Mr. Editor, I have decided that 
there are two of me. I always knew that I had a 
queer make-up, but I got hold of a book called Dr. 
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde a short time ago, and that 
showed me just where I stood. I don’t mean to say 
that either of me has an inclination to be wicked or 
cruel, but I realize that there is one Tom Clingstone 
who is desperately in love with Betty Dean and who 
would be willing to serve seven years for her, as we 
read that Jacob did for Rachel in olden times. This 
Tom Clingstone has but one idea, and that is to be 
constant to the one purpose. He is strong and hon- 
est of purpose, and loves with a strength that would 
pass the understanding of most people. 

There is, however, a second Tom Clingstone who 
keeps repeating to Tom Clingstone No. i such things 
as these : ^‘She doesn’t love you. Why do you bother 
with her ?” 'Tt is better to marry a girl who loves you 
than to marry a girl whom you love and who cares 
nothing for you.” ^^Go in and get some other girl, 
and show Miss Betty Dean that you are a man, and 
that you can live without her.” When Tom Cling- 
stone No. I holds sway I am badly smitten but I am 
miserable, but when Tom No. 2 gets hold of the reins 


138 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


I am reckless, and there is a sort of dare-devil satis- 
faction in being reckless. 

Soon after the affair on the pond I was at the 
dancing school and had the satisfaction of knowing 
that Miss Mattie Darling asked to be introduced to 
me. She has been attending the school as a sort of 
chaperone for her younger sister, and has taken no 
part in the dance up to the time she asked for an in- 
troduction to me. Of course, I felt proud, for she 
is considered the prettiest girl in the village, and be- 
sides that, her people are among the best and richest 
in the town. She is taller than Betty, and has black 
hair. She is no handsomer than Betty, but her beauty 
is of a different type. 

I guess that Tom Clingstone No. 2 must have 
gotten the upper hand about this time, for there was a 
reckless satisfaction in knowing that I had for a mo- 
ment put away the thoughts of Betty for this lovely 
dark-eyed queen. I asked her to waltz with me, and 
she surprised me by accepting. I don’t think I ever 
danced so well, and I told her that she was the first 
person that I had ever enjoyed dancing with. 

^'Oh!” said she, ''you are a flatterer, are you? I 
did not suppose such a brave and daring man, as you 
are said to be, would stoop to flattery.” 

I thought at first that poor old fool Tom had made 
another mistake, but somehow I believe she rather 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


139 


liked it after all. After the school was out that night 
I went home with the Darling girls, and left their 
brother Dan to go home with his sweetheart. Mattie 
is a nice girl, and I am afraid that Tom Clingstone 
No. 2 is almost in love with her already. At all 
events, the next day at the lumber yard when old 
Jobe Spaulding asked me if those were the best posts 
we had I said “Yes, dear.’" You see, he asked that 
question just as I was day-dreaming about Miss Mat- 
tie, and I thought it was she that asked me some- 
thing. 

It was lucky for me that old Jobe was as deaf as 
the posts he was looking at, or I would have had an 
explanation to make. As it was, my face burned for 
half an hour, and I kicked myself and resolved at once 
to be more faithful to my employer, and to drive all 
thoughts of girls from my head during working hours. 

I have made up my mind I will not worry about 
Betty Dean any more, and at the same time I cannot 
help but think that if I should happen to marry one 
of old man Darling’s farms, with a tall, black-haired, 
black-eyed girl on it, Betty might think she had 
made a mistake. After all. Clay is better looking 
than I am; has better chances in life, and more 
money, and if he gets the girl I can have the satisfac- 
tion of knowing that I was the means of cooling him 
off once anyhow. 


LETTER NUMBER EIGHTEEN. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

I guess it’s my luck to have strange adventures, and 
it seems as though all the new things that spring up 
it is my luck to investigate. Of course you know 
about the lumber convention that was held in Omaha 
the latter part of last month. Well, Mr. Dean went, 
and left me to run the yard. The convention opened 
Tuesday, and Mr. Dean went down Monday night 
and took Mrs. Dean and Betty with him. Do you 
know, I felt awful bad to see Betty go, and I don’t 
believe it is best for a young girl to travel much until 
she gets married and her husband can go along to 
take care of her. Then another thing. She is liable 
to see lots of traveling men, and those traveling men 
I am more afraid of than any one else. They can 
size up a pretty girl quicker than you could count 
three, and they get so smooth selling goods that they 
get to slip into the good graces of man, woman and 
child alike. 

I started to write you about an adventure I had 
while the family were away, but my love for Betty 
made my pencil go off after her. It was Tuesday, the 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


141 


first day of the convention, about eleven o’clock in 
the morning, and I was figuriiig a bill of lumber that 
some one had sent in, when a stranger entered the 
office. He was a neat looking chap, with his suit of 
broadcloth, his wide turn-down collar and white tie. 
He said he just called in to pass the time of day and 
ask a few questions about the village. He told me 
he was a divinity student, and as he had been studying 
very hard he had been ordered by the doctors to give 
up for awhile and take a little rest. I rather took to 
him, he was so well informed about things in general, 
and besides that, he seemed to have the whole Bible 
at his tongue’s end. I’m not so much on religion, but 
I do like to see a fellow who does pretend to be, that 
is on to his job. 

This fellow was quite fall, but rather slim; was 
about twenty-five years of age, and looked the stu- 
dent. I was sorry for him, he looked so frail. We 
got to be quite good friends, and I was thinking that 
I would ask him up to the hotel for dinner. You 
see, I stopped at the hotel while the family were away 
at Omaha. Just at this time, however, a man stepped 
inside the office and said: 

“Good day, gentlemen ; this is pretty cold weather 
we are having. I just called in to know if you could 
tell me anything about Mr. Jarvis J. Rogers. I think 
he lives out this way somewhere. What I want to 


142 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


know is where to find him, and also what kind of a 
man he is on a trade. You see,’’ he added, am buy- 
ing horses through this country, and as I heard Mr. 
Rogers had some likely ones to sell, I thought I 
would get posted on him before I went out there.” 

I had been looking the fellow over, and he looked 
the horse buyer from the crown of his hat to the sole 
of his shoes. He was of medium height; well built, 
and had the appearance of being a hard man to han- 
dle. He was a jolly fellow and seemed to know just 
where to put in the right word. I told him where 
Mr. Rogers lived, and that I had heard the old man 
knew the worth of a good horse as well as the next 
one. 

“That is all right,” said he. “I have the greatest 
respect for a man who knows his business. I know 
mine, and here is the proof,” pulling out a roll of 
greenbacks. “I have made money buying and selling 
horses, and I don't care a d — m who knows it.” 

I looked at the young student to see how he took 
the swear words, and his face was a picture of dis- 
gust. I had noticed that he did not take to the 
horse trader very well, all the time, and I wasn’t much 
surprised, although H did not see any harm in the 
horse man. I ventured to say to the student that he 
had another object in view besides making money. 

“Oh! yes,” said the stude'nt, “there are souls to 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


143 


be saved, and as long as I can do something for the 
Lord, the making or laying by of the filthy lucre will 
have but little charm for me,” and he said something 
about taking no heed for the morrow and that suffi- 
cient unto the day was the evil thereof. I did not 
exactly catch on to it all, but it seemed to please the 
horse trader, for he said : 

^^Right you are, pardner, them’s my sentiments ex- 
actly. I used to read the Bible when a boy, and lots 
of them ideas have stuck to me ever since. You bet 
I don’t take no thought for the morrow, not if I can 
skin a man out in a good horse trade to-day. In our 
business we look out for the suckers that we run 
across each day, never doubting but we will find oth- 
ers for the morrow. I got an old deacon to knock 
off ten dollars on a horse trade once, just because I 
answered him out of the Bible. I caught on to the 
fact that he was a very pious man, and after I had 
looked the horse over he asked me how I wanted to 
try him. My answer was Ve put bits in horses’ 
mouths that we may guide them and we turn about 
their whole body.’ ‘Well,’ said the deacon, seeming 
never to have heard it before, ‘that’s no revelation to 
me.’ ‘No I’ said I, ‘St. John gave it as one of his reve- 
lations a good many years ago,’ and the deacon, not 
knowing whether I was right or wrong, was touched, 
and I touched him again when we made the trade 


144 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


and saved ten dollars for remembrance of that horse 
verse in the Bible.” And then, looking at me, he 
nodded towards the student and said: ‘‘You bet, I 
believe in a man being at the head of his ‘profesh.’ 
Now, IVe got a little boy at home. He will be five 
years old next month, and I propose to make some- 
thing out of him, and I will start as soon as I can 
find out what he inclines to. If he is inclined to the 
law, I will have him read law with the best firm in the 
country, after I have fitted him for it. If he 'wants 
to be a merchant, Marshall Field and John Wanna- 
maker will be infants to him. If he wants to be a 
gambler, he shall have a game of his own, and if he 
wants to be a preacher, he shall be a d — m sight the 
best one this country ever saw.” 

The student winced and started for the door, when 
the horse trader called him back and started in again : 

“You see,” said he, “the whole secret of this thing 
is in a fellow following the thing he is best fitted 
for. Now, as a case in point, I ran across a fellow in 
the last town I stopped at that had a new scheme, 
and I think it was the slickest thing I ever saw. Any- 
way, it was so slick that I bought it and here it is.” 

With this he took from his pocket three little shells 
and a small ball, about the size of a pea. He put them 
down on a small table, the three shells in a row, and 
he put the ball under one of them. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 145 

“Now/’ said he, “this thing, I understand, is en- 
tirely new, and, I think, the slickest thing I ever saw 
or heard of.” 

“Where does the slick part come in?” said the stu- 
dent, getting interested for the first time. “I am sure 
I cannot see anything very slick or strong about 
those little shells.” 

“The strange thing about the whole arrangement,” 
said the horse trader, “is the little ball. Now, you 
fellows think you know where that little ball is, don’t 
you? And I will just bet you a dollar that you don’t.” 

“Of course,” said the student, “I do know where 
it is, for I saw where you put it, but it is again§t my 
principles to bet, and besides that, I would not care 
to take your money.” 

The horse trader said, “Oh, you are not wiling to 
take an unfair advantage of me. Now, don’t let that 
trouble you. I make my money easy, and if I lose 
what I have with me I have more at home.” 

The student — “That is not all the reason I have 
for not betting. I am studying for the ministry, and 
as a professed Christian and a student of theology 
it would not be right for me to bet.” 

The trader — “That is all right, my boy, but didn’t 
you tell us a little while ago that you were on a va- 
cation? Now, my business is buying and selling 
horses and when I go on a vacation I just drop my 


146 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


business and go in for a good time. I have been 
known to attend church services during my vacation, 
but never at any other time. I don’t want to induce 
you to do what you should not do as a minister, but 
as you are on your vacation and there is no one here 
but us three, just you do a little brain work in this 
direction and see if you can guess where the little ball 
is.” 

The student — 'T will not bet, but I will give you 
a dollar if I don’t tell you the first t^me where that 
ball is.” 

The trader — '^All right, my boy, go ahead, and if 
you do tell where it is I will give you a dollar.” 

The student pointed to the center shell. The trader 
picked it up and under it, sure enough, was the little 
ball. Again the trader fixed them and they decided 
the forfeit this time should be five dollars. The stu- 
dent was very much interested, and, seeming to for- 
get that he was studying for the ministry, he com- 
menced to talk about raising the bet. It was but a 
short time before the trader had lost over two hun- 
dred dollars to the student, and then the latter said 
he would play no more, because he did not care to 
take money from so nice a man. The student then 
said that the game was all right, but that he had a 
very quick eye and that there was not another man 
in the country that could do what he did. I knew 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


147 


that he had no quicker eye than I had and I told him 
so. I furthermore said that I knew where the ball 
was every time. 

With this, the trader spoke up and said that he did 
not believe there was another man in the country that 
could do him that way. He seemed a little put out 
at losing so much money, and he threw out a remark 
about my thinking I was so awful smart, and also 
that he would give me a chance to prove my smart- 
ness. With this he took out a roll of bills and 
counted out two hundred dollars. This he laid on the 
table and dared me to cover it. Of course, I did not 
have the money of my own, but it happened I had 
collected about $500 that morning from Zeb Green 
and two other men and had not deposited it as I in- 
tended to, owing to the fact of having these callers. 

Feeling that I had a sure thing, I took the $500 
from the safe, and counting out $200, covered the 
trader’s money. Then the student got excited and 
said he would bet on the side of the trader, as he was 
sure no one had eyes as quick as his,so he counted out 
$200 and I covered that. I was holding the other 
hundred in my hand, and the trader said that if I 
wasn’t a barefaced kid he would ask me to put up 
the other hundred. This made me mad and I planked 
down the other hundred and told him to go ahead 
with the game. He fixed the three little shells and 


148 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


I saw as plain as day the little round bullet when it 
rolled under the left hand one. When he told me 
he was ready, I pointed to the shell. He took it up 
and I reached for the money. 

*'Hold on, my friend,” said the student, ''the ball 
is not there. I knew you had defective eyes.” 

Sure enough there was no ball under the left hand 
shell, and the trader and the student had my money. 
No, not my money, for it had just entered my head 
that the money did not belong to me, but to Mr. 
Dean, Betty’s father. Can you imagine how I felt? 
Great heavens ! I hope never to feel that way again. 

I realized in a moment that I was a thief and a gam- 
bler, and my next thought was to get that money 
back at any cost. There was but one way to do it, 
for the love of money had even turned the head of 
the young minister. I must take it away from them 
by force. If I could get rid of the trader, I thought 
I could easily finish the sick looking student, if he 
should so far forget himself as to stand out. They 
both commenced to laugh at and joke me about my 
failing sight and asked me if I had any more money to 
bet ; at the same time I felt that they were both about 
to leave me. I soon saw a chance, and doubling up - 
my good left fist, I landed one on the trader’s chin 
that sent him to earth in a hurry, I then turned on 
the student and said: 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


149 


“That money did not belong to me and you must 
give it up at once, or it will go hard with you, for I 
am desperate.’’ 

“Not so fast, my young lamb,” said the student, as 
he drew from his hip pocket a nasty looking revolver, 
“not so fast. Just you sit down in that chair,” and 
he pointed the gun at my head. 

Of course, I was surprised at the turn things had 
taken, but I would rather face a dozen guns than to 
face Betty and her father, and own that I was a thief. 
With a quick upward movement of my right hand I 
sent the gun flying through space, and at the same 
time struck out with my left. The student ducked 
and clinched me, and for the next five minutes there 
was the liveliest thrashing about that-office you ever 
heard of. Two or three times I thought I was a 
goner, but finally, gathering all of my reserved force, 
I Unded my man on his back, and, sitting on his 
chest, looked about me for the trader. I must have 
hit him pretty hard, for he was just coming to, and 
was then getting on to his feet. I had barely recov- 
ered my breath enough to make another aggressive 
move and was wondering what I would do with both 
of them, when the door opened and Mike O’Brien 
stepped into the office. 

“Mike,” I yelled^ “shut that door and lock it, and 


150 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


take care of that man. They are trying to rub the 
office.” 

The trader did not seem to pay much attention to 
Mike and was hunting for something in his clothes. 
Just then Mike, picking up the student’s revolver, 
said: “Perhaps this is what you are looking for.” 

I soon got my wind and we tied the two fellows 
hand and foot. Then I told Mike my experience, and 
he laughed as though it were a good joke. We 
searched the men; took all the money and weapons 
away from them, and gave them the choice between 
leaving the place and never showing up again, or be- 
ing handed over to the town authorities. They de- 
cided that as all the money they had with them was 
counterfeit, they had better skip. 

The student remarked as we parted that I was the 
hardest proposition he ever tackled, and I was obliged 
to own that for a sickly student, he was a little beyond 
my expectations. 


LETTER NUMBER NINETEEN. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

My experience with the three shell men, as Mike 
O’Brien calls them, where I lost $500 of my em- 
ployer’s money, and then took it away from them 
with Mike’s help, ought to teach me a good lesson, 
but Mike says, will it? — that’s the question. I am 
sure that the lesson has done me lots of good, and 
I hope it was not altogether lost on the three shell 
men themselves. Mike says, however, that those 
men have skinned someone else before this time, and 
that the next thing I know some smart Aleck will 
come along and sell me a gold brick. Well, I guess 
not. In the first place bricks are not made of gold, 
and I don’t know what call I would have to buy bricks 
anyway. Mike is a good fellow with all of his jokes, 
and he is my friend. He made me wear a sprig of 
shamrock on St. Patrick’s Day, for he said if I wasn’t 
an Irishman, I was a good fighter and ought to be 
one anyway. 

I was a good deal worked up over my experience 
while Mr. Dean and Betty were away, and at first I 
hardly knew what to do about telling Mr. Dean of it. 
Mike was the only one who knew anything about it, 


152 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


and he said I would be a fool if I told on myself. I 
thought differently, however, and as soon as I could 
get hold of Mr. Dean after his return, I told him that 
I wanted to quit my job. He was surprised, but when 
he found I was in earnest, he paid me off. Then it 
was that I told him the whole story, even to every 
little detail. After I had finished my story, I said to 
him : ‘'Now, Mr. Dean, I have two requests to make ; 
first, don’t tell Betty a word about this; and next, 
you just turn in and kick me good. I deserve it, and 
I think I would feel better if you would do it.” Say, 
but he did worse than that, for he just burst out 
laughing and laughed until I thought he would have 
a fit. When he was through laughing, he said : 

“Tom, you are a brick. I always knew you were a 
good one and as brave as they make them, but when 
you come to me like a man and tell of your short- 
comings, you make me think more of you than ever. 
These fellows taught you a good lesson, and I am 
sure you will profit by it, but you must not leave my 
employ — not yet, at all events. When you came here 
I did not need you, but I gave you a show and you 
made a place for yourself ; now you must stay here 
and fill it, but I would like to have seen that ‘mill,’ 
although it has been many a year since I thought I 
could enjoy a thing of that kind.” “But,” said I, “it 
was not at the mill, but right here in your own office,” 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


153 


And with this he laughed again, as he said: “Tom, 
you would beat Josiah Allen’s wife.” “No, Mr. 
Dean,” said I, “I wouldn’t beat any woman, but I 
wouldn’t mind another trial with that student.” With 
this he burst out anew with his laughter and rushed 
out of the office. I never saw Mr. Dean act that way 
before, and it struck me that they must have had a 
fine time down to the association meeting at Omaha. 

When I went up to the house to supper that night 
Betty and Mrs. Dean both wanted to know how my 
clothes got torn so badly, for they had found some 
of the things that I had worn when I had taken that 
lesson from the student. I had entirely forgotten 
them, and I was wondering what I would say when 
Mr. Dean came to my relief and said : “Mother,” he 
always calls Mrs. Dean “mother,” “did you ever hear 
of a young man fighting the tiger?” “Yes,” said 
Mrs. Dean slowly, “it does seem as though I had 
heard that expression, but somehow it doesn’t seem 
to me that it means a real tiger.” “Well,” said Mr. 
Dean with a laugh, “it was a real tiger that Tom 
tackled, and he whipped him, too ; and that is more 
than most young men do, so don’t say any more 
about the clothes. Just fix them up if they are not 
past fixing, and throw them away if they are. Tom 
is all right, and has told it all to me ; so don’t bother 
him any more about it.” 


154 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


That was the last any of them said about it. About 
a week after this Mike asked me if they had ever 
found out about my scrape. *‘Yes/’ said I. told 
Mr. Dean all about it.'' ''And didn't he fire you?" 
"No," said I, "he raised my pay ten dollars a month 
and said he wanted me to stay right along." At this 
Mike gave a long whistle, and he seemed awfully sur- 
prised as he said : "Tom, you would fall in the sewer 
and come out covered with diamonds." "But, Mike, 
there aren't any sewers in this town." "No," said he, 
"and that is most likely the reason you don't fall in ; 
you have fallen into everything else." I like Mike, 
but I don't just understand what he means about my 
falling into things. 

Soon after I came to this town, there was a young 
man who came here with the firm that put up the 
grain elevator. I guess I never told you about him. 
He is a fine looking fellow, a carpenter by trade, and 
his name is Walter Crandall. He learne'd his trade 
back East somewhere, and has worked in Chicago, 
Omaha, and several other large cities. He is about 
twenty-seven years old, and unmarried. The reason 
I am telling all about him is because we are getting 
to be such good friends that I thought you would be 
interested in him. When the grain elevator was fin- 
ished I expected he would go back to Omaha, but he 
told me he believed that the place for a young man 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


155 


was not in the large city, but in some small town, and 
as he liked the people of Coldeck, he had decided to 
stay here and open a shop. He allowed that if he 
could not get work enough at his trade, he could 
farm a little and come out ahead of the fellow who 
stayed in the city and tried to fight strikes and com- 
binations. He told me lots about the strikes, but 
somehow I don’t quite understand them; neither do 
I understand the labor unions, as he calls them. He 
says that the men band themselves together and tell 
the owners and contractors whom they shall hire; 
how long the men shall work, and how much pay 
they shall receive. Walter seems to be a nice, honest 
man, but that thing is so out of reason that I cannot 
understand it. Suppose, for instance, that the four 
clerks down at Johnston’s store should lay down the 
law as to what pay they should get and how many 
hours they should work; what do you suppose old 
man Johnston would do? Do! why he would swear 
and stamp his feet, and he would send those clerks 
a-flying in short order; and as soon as the people 
found it out, there would be seven hundred young 
men, besides a few young ladies and girls, there after 
those places. Oh, no, Walter must be wrong about 
those labor unions ; it doesn’t stand to reason. 

That is not exactly what I started to write about 
Walter, though; but that labor union business has 


1S6 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


puzzled me some. It was in January, I think, that 
Walter came to me one day and asked if I would not 
introduce him to Miss Betty. I was glad to do this 
after I found out why he had requested it. He said 
Miss Betty reminded him so much of a sister of his 
who died several years ago. There is one thing sure 
— his sister could not have looked much like him; 
for he is light, with brown hair and blue eyes, while 
Miss Betty is more inclined towards a brunette. 
While we were talking of her. Miss Betty walked into 
the office, and I introduced them. I don’t think I 
ever saw a young man so pleased before, and you 
ought to have heard him talk. If she spoke of a book 
he had read it and could tell all about the different 
characters. If she spoke of a fine piece of statuary, 
he had seen it and could tell the name of the sculptor. 
If she spoke of a city of the East, he had been there 
and could tell her of the peculiarities of the people. It 
was a stormy day and no one else came in; and for 
an hour those two people sat there and exchanged 
thoughts, and I pretended to be at work on my books, 
but I often caught myself standing watching them 
with my mouth open and my whole attention ab- 
sorbed by their words, which I realized were more or 
less beyond my powers of comprehension. 

After the first meeting Walter and Miss Betty met 
several times during the winter, and every time they 
seemed to get so interested in each other that they 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 157 

forgot the flight of time. It seems strange to me 
that a man would be so interested in a young lady 
just because she reminded him of a dead sister. What 
puzzles me, though, is how it is that Miss Betty is 
so interested. He certainly cannot remind her of 
her brother, for they don’t look a bit alike. Mike 
says that I had best look to my laurels, but Mike is 
so suspicious. It doesn’t stand to reason that a man 
would marry a girl because she reminded him of his 
sister. The most of them prefer a girl who looks like 
some other fellow’s sister. To be on the right side, 
however, I had a long talk with Miss Betty, and I 
guess I set her to thinking. I commenced by saying : 

“Miss Betty, I have a strange, restless longing this 
spring.” 

“Almost every one does at this time of year, Tom. 
You should take some spring tonic.” This proved to 
me that I had started wrong, so I commenced again : 

“Please don’t interrupt me. Miss Betty; and after 
I have explained you will have a better idea of what 
I mean. I see that you enjoy to talk with a man who 
can talk books, and I propose to read. I know that 
you admire men who have made their mark in the 
world, and I shall make my mark. All I ask of you is 
to tell me what I must accomplish before I can sue 
for your hand; and I can assure you that no task 
will be so great but that I will accomplish it. All I 


158 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


ask is that my reward will be yourself — to me the 
most precious and the most beautiful of women. For 
you I would scale the heights of — ” 

*‘Hold on, Tom. Get me the book so that I may 
see if you are saying that right. I think you mispro- 
nounced some of those words. Did you take that 
from ‘Blood and Thunder Joe’ or from ‘Pink-Eyed 
Nellie, the Pride of North Gulch?’” and as sure as 
preaching she reached for the very book I learned it 
out of. 

“Well,” said I, as I took the book from her, “‘the 
sentiment is mine, if the words are borrowed.” 

“All right, Tom. When you own a pair of horses 
without a blemish, the finest carriage in the town, and 
money enough to keep them for a year, you can 
come and ask me to go to ride,” and with that she 
bounded out of the room. I wanted to take her in 
my arms and kiss her to bind the bargain, but I am 
so rough that I might have hurt the dear little thing, 
and I am glad I overcame the desire to do so. 

After she left me I had a good long think. I have 
already a couple of hundred dollars saved up, and with 
my knowledge of horses, if I don’t do some tall work 
soon! You just wait! I am satisfied of one thing: 
If she had not been inclined my way, she would not 
have set me so easy a task. Of course she hasn’t 
really promised me anything yet, but I know girls. 
Just keep close tab on my next month’s work. 


LETTER NUMBER TWENTY. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

I 

If you are a horseman you will appreciate some of 
the pleasure that I have had in the anticipation of 
what I was to do ; and if you are a real truly practical 
horseman you have most likely met with some of the 
surprises that are always in store for the fellow who 
puts his trust in his judgment in the matter of horses. 
I have always claimed that I was a born horseman, 
and I have not only claimed it, but I have proved it 
by what I have done in this line. However, I am not 
going back into past history, but I propose to tell 
you of some history that I have been making during 
the past month. 

I wrote you in my last what Betty said about the 
necessity of my having a pair of horses without a 
blemish, etc. Well, of course that little talk showed 
me where I stood with her, and I made up my mind 
that the time would be short between then and the 
time I should be able to ride behind a pair of the best 
the country afforded. The fact that I lacked the 
greater part of the price did not bother me in the 
least ; in fact, it gave me more chance to show what 


160 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


I could do for the girl I loved. I took an inventory 
of my belongings, and found I had a little over two 
hundred dollars, all in the hands of my employer, and 
I knew that I could have this at any time for the 
asking. As Mr. Dean is something of a lover of 
horses, I had no hesitancy in telling him that I had 
decided to buy me a team, but I gave him to under- 
stand that my only reason for getting it was that I 
loved horses. He very kindly told me that I could 
drive Jake whenever I liked, which was very nice of 
my future father-in-law, but old Jake would not fill 
the bill. 

Speaking of Mr. Dean as a father-in-law, I am won- 
dering if he will feel proud of me when I become a 
member of his family in good earnest. But I must 
not go to day-dreaming; I must write history, for I 
feel that I am a maker of history as far as the Dean 
family and horse flesh in Coldeck is concerned. My 
first venture in horse flesh was in buying a little sorrel 
mare. I paid thirty-five dollars for her, and she could 
pace to beat time — so the man said of whom I bought 
her. I bought me a road-cart for ten dollars, and a 
harness for eight, so that my whole rig cost me fifty- 
three dollars. The horse was poor, but she was full 
of life, and I worked over her to get her to look a 
little better, but it was not of much use. She was a 
hard looking proposition. The only thing she had in 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


161 


her favor was her speed, which was good for Coldeck. 

Saturday afternoon I drove her down toward the 
duck pond, where all the boys go to speed their 
horses. They all laughed when I drove up, and Sam 
Smalley asked me why I didn’t get out and walk and 
give the horse a chance. I did not say anything, but 
just bided my time until Smalley and Bill Little got 
to speeding their blooded stock, and then I cut in and 
beat them both for a quarter-mile stretch. Smalley 
offered to bet me that I could not do it again, but 
when I pulled a hundred-dollar bill on him, he backed 
down. You see the horse was not known in Coldeck, 
for I had bought him of a peddler who was passing 
through the town, because he was not heavy enough 
for his work. It hurt Smalley’s feelings pretty bad 
to be beaten by a horse he had been making fun of, 
and as I saw there was no bet in the man, I bantered 
him to bet me five hundred dollars that I could not 
beat him in a straight mile heat, and offered to make it 
the best three in five and raise it two hundred more if 
he wanted to. Betting was no go with him, however, 
which I well knew, or I would not have offered to bet. 

When I got home that night I got the best looking 
thin blanket I could find in the barn and dressed up 
the little mare. You see, I was expecting company, 
and, sure enough, they came, Sam Smalley and his 
cousin, Jeff Brown. Jeff thinks he knows all about 


162 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


horses, and Sam knows he does, and I knew that that 
kind of a pair was just the kind to sell a horse to, so 
I laid my plans accordingly. As they came in, Jeff 
commenced the conversation by saying: *^Say, Tom, 
where is that wonderful pacer Sam has been telling 
me about?” 

^‘Oh, she is in the barn,” said I. “She's nothing so 
wonderful as I know of, but she isn't taking any 
Coldeck dust, for she doesn't have to. I suppose you 
and Sam came around to close that bet I offered, so 
if you have the money with you, we will go right into 
the house and fix it up. You can raise it all you want 
to if you will take Mr. Dean's check, for I don't think 
I could raise more than seven hundred dollars cash.” 

“Say, Tom,” said Jeff, ignoring what I said, “where 
did you get that animal, anyway?” 

“I got her of a friend of mine who had to have 
some money. I let him have a hundred dollars on 
her, and he expects to get her back in a month and 
pay me twenty-five for the use of my money, but he 
is an improvident cuss, and it is dollars to sausages 
that he will want me to keep her two months for the 
same price. You bet, I won't do it, though, for there 
is a man from Skimptown looking at her right now.” 
You see, I had to talk big, and I was sure that all the 
successful horse traders that I had ever seen were 
great liars. They don't seem to lie so much about 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


163 


the horse they are trying to sell as they do about 
other things connected with it. 

''Say,” said Jeff, "I will give you a hundred and 
twenty-five dollars, and we will close the deal right 
now.” 

"No,” said I ; "I am sure of that from Jim Green, 
of Skimptown, and I have given him my word that 
I would hold her or get more.” 

After awhile, however, we closed the deal for 
$137*50 cash, and a navy revolver. Jeff said the re- 
volver was worth twenty-five dollars, and I believed 
him until I noticed him winking at Sam, and then 
I knew that they were trying to cheat me. After all, 
I did pretty fair, and came out $83.50 to the good, for 
Mr. Dean would not take any pay for the mare’s 
keep. 

Betty Dean saw me driving the sorrel mare, and 
one day she asked me what it was. I told her it was 
the first brick in the foundation of mv happiness. She 
looked puzzled for a moment, and then said she 
thought I would have more happiness if I had one 
brick less of that kind. I took her clean off her feet, 
though, the next morning after the sale when she 
asked me how my brick was, and I just poured $137.50 
in gold and silver into her lap. 

"Miss Betty,” said I, "those bricks sell for just 
$137.50 apiece. What do you think of them now as a 


164 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


foundation of happiness?” I gathered up my money 
and walked out, and I don’t think Betty recovered for 
an hour. 

It was all over town the next day that I had sold 
a fast pacer to Jeff Brown, and of course I was con- 
sidered quite a horseman, of which record I was proud 
you may be sure. 

About this time I felt that life was something worth 
while, especially as I had set my aim high, and had 
taken some steps in the right direction. However, 
I was without a horse, and with that fact staring me 
in the face, I realized that there was but little chance 
of winning my bride. One afternoon a farmer drove 
in with one of the handsomest horses I ever saw. He 
was as black as coal, carried his head up, and every 
part about him seemed perfect. I asked Mr. Davenport 
(the farmer) if he wanted to sell the horse. ^^No,” said 
the farmer, '‘I just bought him of a fellow down below 
here, and I was thinking that if I could get a mate 
to him, I would have the finest team in the country, 
and one without a blemish.” I looked up quickly when 
he said this, for it sounded strangely familiar, but he 
was flecking a bit of dirt off the harness with his whip, 
and did not even look up, so I knew it was a coin- 
cidence. Mr. Davenport was leading a poor looking 
specimen of a horse behind his wagon, which he of- 
fered to sell me for twenty-five dollars, but I told 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


165 


him that was not the horse that won my heart. After 
a good bit of dickering, I bought the black horse for 
one hundred and fifty dollars cash, and perhaps I did 
not feel like a ten times’ winner when I realized that 
that coal black nag was all my own. I wondered 
where Betty was, and also wondered if she would call 
this one a poor brick. 

After supper that night I was revolving in my mind 
the surprise I had in store for Miss Betty, when she 
broke out with: 

'‘Say, Tom, you are a pretty good judge of horses, 
aren’t you?” 

“Well,” said I; “I think I am. Miss Betty. You 
made a good deal of fun of the last one I had, but 
perhaps there may be some surprise in store for you 
yet. But,” I added, “why do you ask the question?” 

“Oh, nothing particular, only I met Uncle Dan 
Davenport this afternoon when I was out driving, and 
I learned something about horses. Uncle Dan had 
a handsome black horse that he was leading behind 
his wagon, and I asked him why he did not harness 
the black one and put on more style than with the 
one he had. While we were talking the black horse 
began to pull back, and then run up, and then go side- 
ways, first one way and then the other, and Uncle 
Dan told me that the pretty black horse had the blind 
staggers, and that he did not dare to drive him for 


166 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


fear he would fall down and break the shafts. I asked 
him what he bought a horse like that for, and he said 
he had bought it on speculation; that he only gave 
twenty-five dollars for it, and that he would sell it to 
some fellow who had more money than horse sense. 

I told him about your wanting to buy a team without 
a blemish, and he said that he guessed he would har- 
ness the black into the shafts and go up and try you. 

I told him that he did not need to try you, for you had 
told me that you knew all about horses, and the result 
of our talk was that he bet me two pounds of choco- 
lates against a pair of driving gloves that he could sell 
you that horse at a good figure. Say, Tom, did I 
winr 

Mr. Editor, what do you think of that for luck? 
Did she win? Well, if she didn’t the other fellow did, 
hands down. When Miss Betty commenced to tell 
that story, I was in high glee, but as she went on 
with it I would have been pleased if the floor had 
opened and swallowed me up. The surprise had 
come, but it was mine. 

'‘What’s the matter, Tom? You are looking pale. 
Are you sick?” i 

"No, Miss Betty. I am not sick exactly, but I will 
pay for those driving gloves.” I don’t know why I 
should have looked pale, for the perspiration was com- 
ing out of every pore of my body. Betty looked at 



“Don’t let him stand in a draft, Tom.” 


168 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


me and tried to look surprised, but it was hard work 
from the first, and at last a dead failure, for she burst 
out laughing as though she had struck the richest joke 
of the season. After she had recovered control of 
herself, she said: 

*'Oh, Tom, it’s so funny to think you would buy a 
horse with the blind staggers. Why, Tom, didn’t you 
look in that horse’s eye ? I did, and I knew he was a 
little off. It’s too bad, for I was thinking what a good 
laugh I was going to have on Uncle Dan, and now 
the laugh will be turned on me because I stood up for 
you. By the way, Tom, you had better put an over- 
head strap on the black horse’s halter to-night, for 
Uncle Dan told me he was sure to get cast if he wasn’t 
fixed that way. Don’t you think his off hind leg was 
stocked a little? I do, and if I were in your place, I 
would put a ” 

I waited to hear no more, but bolted for the door, 
undecided in my own mind whether I would knock 
that horse in the head, or fix him up and try and find 
someone who had less horse sense than I had to 
trade him to. As I passed the sitting room window 
on the way to the barn, Betty called out: ''Don’t 
let him stand in a draft, Tom. You know that 
horses that haven’t been used take cold awful easy. 

And say, Tom ” But I was in the barn and had 

the door shut, for I argued that if the draft was 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


169 


as bad on that horse as that girl’s conversation was 
on me, he should have full protection. I stayed 
in the barn until I was sure the family were all in bed ; 
then crept into my room, and as I could not sleep, 
have written this letter to you. I am not sure just 
at present which I shall dread the most of the trials 
that the morning will bring, facing the horse with the 
blind staggers, or the girl who lost her bet. 


LETTER NUMBER TWENTY-ONE. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

When I was back in Illinois, at Hardacre Corners, 
I learned something about horses ; some of the things 
were told to me and some I learned by experience. 
Those that I learned by experience I have never for- 
gotten, but most of the things that were told me only 
went to confirm my experience after I had been bitten. 

I had been told all about horses with the blind stag- 
gers ; how to handle them and how to tell if they were 
liable to have them. I had been told the cause and 
also the remedy, but I did not take much notice of all 
this talk, for I never expected to own a horse of that 
kind. When I did get caught, however, I began to 
think of what I had been told. 

How well I remember that night, one month ago 
when I wrote you my last letter. When I had finished 
writing, it was three o’clock in the morning and I was 
as wide awake as though I had just gotten up from a 
ten-hour sleep. I sat down on the edge of the bed 
and began to talk to myself something after this style : 
‘Torn Clingstone, you have been making an ass of 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


171 


yourself again. Here you are, dead in love with the 
sweetest girl in the whole West, and you have made 
a fool of yourself buying a horse with the blind stag- 
gers ; and the worst of it is, that girl that you think 
more of than you do of your own life, knows all about 
it; in fact she came very near putting the job up on 
you. Now, you must get out of this scrape somehow 
and save your reputation as a horseman and win back 
the good opinion of the girl.” 

Now there was old Joel Schoolcraft back home; I 
have heard him tell that if a horse had the blind stag- 
gers, the only way was to bleed him. But then, old 
Joel never did do anything very brilliant, and I made 
up my mind that although I might be obliged to bleed 
the horse as a temporary relief to him, the only per- 
manent relief to me would be to bleed some other fel- 
low. As soon as this idea got through my head, I 
began to devise means of doing this same thing. I 
did not want to dispose of him in the town and I knew 
if I happened to drive into a section of the country 
where he was known, it would be all up with me, so 
I tried an old trick that I once helped a liveryman 
at home to do. I will not explain just how I did it as 
it might cause someone to be dishonest, but at five 
o’clock on the same morning that I wrote to you, I 
was driving out of the stable with a black horse that 
had the prettiest white star on his forehead that you 


172 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


ever saw; he also had a narrow streak of white 
on his breast, which did credit to the artist. 

Now, if you know anything about blind staggers, 
you know that a horse is more liable to be troubled 
with them in the afternoon than in the morning, as 
in the morning, after a good night’s rest, his blood is 
cool and there is less liability of a rush of blood to 
the head. I left a note telling Mr. Dean that I had 
business down in Skimptown, ten miles below Col- 
deck. It was about nine o’clock when I arrived at 
Skimptown; I took plenty of time, as I was bound 
that my horse should be in good condition when I 
got there. I drove at once to Jim Stevens’ stable and 
asked him if he knew where I could buy a good team 
of road horses. I described to him what I wanted, 
and all the time I was talking to him he was looking 
over the black horse. The black was feeling fine and 
did not seem to want to stand still — it might be that 
a little prodding I did occasionally had something to 
do with it. 

Every little while Jim would ask me a question. 
First, he asked me what time I left Coldeck, and I 
told him it was a little before eight o’clock. It was a 
little before eight o’clock; in fact it was about three 
hours before, but three hours isn’t much if a fellow 
has only three hours to live. After awhile he asked 
me where I got him, and I told him that a brother of 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


173 


mine raised him, which was a fact, as all men are 
brothers. All of this time I was talking about the 
horses I wanted to buy. At last an idea seemed to 
strike him ; he said he knew a farmer down the road 
a piece that he thought had about the team I wanted, 
and if I wanted him to, he would ride down with me 
and see them. He got into the cart with me and we 
weren’t over a minute and a half going that quarter 
of a mile. When we got to the farmer’s place, we 
found just what I expected, that the farmer had noth- 
ing to sell but a pair of farm chunks, which of course 
I did not want. I was disgusted of course, and walked 
the horse back to Jim’s stable. I talked all the time 
about the horses I wanted, and Jim only half listened, 
as he was all eyes for the black horse. At last he said, 
‘‘How much did you say your brother wanted for this 
horse?” 

“My brother doesn’t own this horse-: I own him 
and he isn’t for sale unless I can get my price, for 
the people about these parts don’t know a good horse 
when they see it.” 

“Well,” said Jim,“there might be some people about 
here that know a little something about a horse. How 
much do you want for him?” 

“Four hundred cash,” said I, “and not a cent less.” 

“Oh, that doesn’t scare me,” said Jim. “I have 
one that I would not take five hundred dollars for; 


174 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


but he is better bred than this one. I will bring him 
out and stand them side by side, and if they come to- 
gether as I think they may, I will give you more than 
four hundred for him.” 

Jim brought his horse out and stood him beside 
mine. Say, but it was a marvel how near I had copied 
that star and stripe. Jim tried not to show how well 
he was pleased. I pulled out a ten-dollar bill and 
asked him how much he would give or take. 

''Oh, no,” said Jim, "you don’t catch me that way; 
but I will make you a proposition.” And he brought 
out a little sorrel mare which he said was worth a 
hundred and fifty of any man’s money. "She is a 
peach,” said Jim. 

I could see that she had splints before and spavins 
behind, but she did not go lame. She had a good 
seven-year-old mouth, but it wasn’t the first one she 
had had. Jim insisted that I have my horse taken out 
and fed and that I try the sorrel mare; in fact, he 
set his man at work to do that same thing. I drove 
her up and down in front of the stable a few times 
and told Jim all of the good points I saw in her, and 
then told Jim I thought he set too big a price on her. 

"All right,” said Jim, "perhaps I do, but as the mare 
seems to suit you, just say how you will trade.” 

"I will trade her for just three hundred and no less.” 

Jim certainly is a mind reader, for before I had the 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


175 


words hardly out of my mouth, the money was in my 
hands. There were six fifty-dollar bills, nice and crisp, 
and Jim slapped me on the back and said, Stev- 
ens is quick on a trade if anyone asks you, and when 
you get another horse that you are willing to trade, 
come and see me and I will give you the rest of the 
band.’’ At this the stableman commenced to laugh, 
and I drove off toward Coldeck. 

I was willing to be thought a jay, to get out of the 
scrape I was in and I knew that Jim Stevens and all of 
his men thought I was a jay, but after I got out of 
that town I just laughed and hollered until I was 
hoarse. Then I got to wondering what^Jim meant 
by giving me the rest of the band. I was anxious to 
get back to Coldeck ; I had figured that I would get 
there long before noon and put up my horse at the 
yard and then walk up to the house as though noth- 
ing had happened, but I found I was to gain a little 
more experience before I got there. I was urging the 
little sorrel along the best I could, when all at once 
she began to whistle. Then I dropped on to what Jim 
meant by giving me the rest of the band. The sorrel 
mare was a whistler, and Jim was most likely laughing 
over the fact of having taken me in on a broken- 
winded mare. I drove very slow the rest of the way 
to Coldeck, and arrived at the lumber yard just as 
Mr. Dean was going to dinner. He seemed to notice 


176 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


the fact that I had a poor, broken-down horse, and I 
could see a twinkle in his eye as he proposed to get 
in and ride up to the house with me. Arriving at the 
house, who should we find, but Betty^s uncle, Mr. 
Davenport. Betty was there also, and I could see 
them looking at the sorrel mare and exchanging 
glances which meant something, but what, I did not 
know. 

I was feeling good and did my share of talking while 
we were at the dinner table. After dinner Miss Betty 
and Mr. Davenport followed me out on to the porch, 
and ^^Uncle Dan,’^ as the Deans all call him, said: 
^‘Tom, I did not intend to keep that hundred and fifty 
dollars you gave me for the black horse. I only tried 
that trick on you at Betty’s suggestion, and I am 
ready to return the money if you will produce the 
horse, or if you will tell me how much you lost on 
him, I will make your loss good.” 

I could see out of the side of my eye that Betty was 
watching me as she never watched me before; what 
the whole thing meant I did not know, but I felt as 
though I had the best of the deal so far. I folded my 
arms, and, looking Mr. Davenport square in the eye, 
said: “Mr. Davenport, do you take me for a baby? 
I bought the horse from you fair and square, and if I 
had lost every dollar I had on him, I would never al- 
low you to make it good. As it is, however, I am 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 177 

ahead of the game, and I am very much obliged to you 
for putting me on to a good thing.” 

''A gbod thing,” said Mr. Davenport, '‘what do you 
mean, Tom? Who did you sell the horse to?” 

“I sold him to Jim Stevens, the liveryman, down at 
Skimptown.” 

“Oh, no, Tom, that can't be,” said Mn Davenport. 
“Why, Jim Stevens owned that black horse once; in 
fact he sold him to the man I bought him of, and in- 
duced the man to give a hundred dollars for him, and 
he was a poor man, too, and couldn’t afford to be 
taken in that way.” 

“What you say is no doubt true, Mr. Davenport, 
but Jim Stevens bought that black horse of me and 
gave me three hundred dollars and the music box I 
drove home. I might add, however, that Jim did not 
know the horse, as the black horse had changed a 
portion of his black coat during^ the night ; in fact he 
had grown some marks that very closely resembled 
the marks on a valuable horse Jim owns and which he 
has been trying to mate for a long time.” At this I 
took out the six fifty-dollar bills and handing them to- 
ward Mr. Davenport, said, “There doesn’t seem to be 
any blind staggers about those, does there?” 

Mr. Dean had been an attentive listener to all that 
was said, and started to say something when Miss 
Betty chimed in with, “Tom, I got a scolding on your 


178 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


account to-day. Father says I have turned your head 
on this horse business and that you are neglecting 
your work. Now, I have a request to make; will 
you grant it?’^ 

course I will, Miss Betty. All you have to do 
is to ask it.” 

“All right, Tom, I want you to deliver that horse, 
harness and cart to Uncle Dan and let him sell it for 
you for what he can get, and then I want you to let 
the horse business alone. Do you promise?” 

“But, Miss Betty — ” 

“No,, there is no ‘Miss Betty ^ about it. Do you 
propose to keep your promise?” 

“Of course I will ; but it seems as though you were 
taking an unfair advantage of me.” 

I caught Betty’s eye and the look she gave me 
showed that I had gone far enough. I went out and 
got the sorrel mare and cart and was not at all sorry 
when I saw Mr. Davenport drive her down the road. 
Mr. Dean had gone back to the lumber office and 
Betty and I were left alone on the porch. 

“Can I speak now. Miss Betty?” 

“No, Tom, you cannot say a word. I want to speak 
now; I want to tell you that I am sorry that I have 
been so thoughtless, and that I have made you so 
much trouble. Now, don’t speak, Tom, I am not 
done yet. I am not going to ask you to forgive me 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


179 


for I just enjoyed every bit of it, and I have laughed 
over your being taken in on that black horse until 
I cried. And, Tom, I was proud of you when you 
told Uncle Dan that you would stand by your trade 
if you lost every dollar you had. I knew you would, 
Tom, and it sometimes takes more courage to do that, 
than it does to stop a runaway.’’ 

^'Can’t I say something now. Miss Betty ?” 

^'No, Tom, not a word. You have work to do down 
at the lumber yard. Father needs you; just go back 
there and let him know that you have not forgotten 
your duty to your employer.” With this she turned 
and left me and there was nothing for me to do but to 
go back to the lumber yard. 

When six o’clock came I had my books all posted 
and had waited on several customers. Mr. Dean had 
not spoken to me all the afternoon, and it suited me 
just as well that he did not. I wanted to show him 
that my experience with horses had not hurt me, and 
I guess I did, for as we walked home together, he 
commenced to talk of my horse experience and finally 
said that I was too good a man to waste my time 
with horses. He said I might do well in the horse ' 
business, but that it was a cheap business at best when 
followed for a living, particularly if I proposed to 
make a living trading. Then he explained to me the 
difference between a legitimate horse dealer and a 


180 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


trader, and it struck me that possibly I had had a 
narrow escape, for I could see by the way he talked 
that he would want something different than a horse 
trader for a son-in-law. 

I hardly know what to make of Miss Betty. If she 
cares anything about me, she has a successful way of 
covering it; but whether she cares anything for me 
or not, she has the art of keeping me guessing down 
as fine as silk. 


LETTER NUMBER TWENTY-TWO. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

The glorious Fourth has come and gone and some 
of us are still here with all of our arms and legs. I 
have had several serious talks with Betty since I last 
wrote you, and do you know, Mr. Editor, I have an 
idea that if she would consent or decide to marry me, 
she might make quite a man of me. This may be 
a strange confession to make, but somehow I cannot 
help but make it. Now there are the first two lines 
of this letter ; they are Betty's words. I never would 
have thought of the Fourth of July that way, and say, 
when she asked me why people bought fireworks and 
burned powder on the Fourth of July, I had to think 
a spell before I could answer her. Betty is a right 
smart girl, and she says that where there is one ounce 
of powder burned from purely patriotic motives, 
there are a hundred pounds burned by people who 
only recognize the glorious Fourth as a day on which 
the restraining hand of the law is removed in order 
to give them a chance to raise Cain. 

I worked pretty hard through the month of June, 
after Betty made me promise not to have anything 


182 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


more to do with horse trading, but I did not get any 
chance to talk with her. I did not grumble, for al- 
though I was anxious to know her feelings toward 
me, I felt that I was not losing anything by waiting, 
particularly as I was sticking close to business and 
standing first-class with Mr. Dean. I have heard that 
it is a good thing to stand in with the parents of the 
only girl on earth, but if a fellow stood in with the 
whole town it would make no difference if the girl 
had as much of a head of her own as is the case with 
Miss Betty Dean. But I started to tell you of our 
Fourth of July talk and a little experience I had on 
that day. On the evening of the third of July, I asked 
Betty if she did not think that the Fourth of July 
would be a good time to let me do a little talking, 
and I also, asked her if she would go with me to the 
picnic in the afternoon. To both of these questions 
she said yes, but just as I was feeling as though things 
were coming my way. Miss Betty told me that she 
would reserve the right to name the subjects upon 
which I should talk. That girl can dash a man’s hopes 
with more ease than anyone I ever heard of, but I 
made up my mind that as she had given me a little 
chance, I would put my wits against hers and see if 
I couldn’t come out ahead. In the first place she told 
me not to spend a cent for fireworks; in this I 
minded her, but after breakfast on the morning of 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


183 


the Fourth as we were sitting alone on the front 
porch, I made up my mind that I would break the rule 
of asking her what I should talk about. 

''Miss Betty,” said I, ‘Mid it ever occur to you that 
I am not a child and that I have feeling the same as 
other people?” 

"Why, Tom, what does all this mean?” 

I saw that I had surprised her and that I had her 
for the moment at a disadvantage, and I made up my 
mind that I would follow up my advantage. 

"It means,” said I, "that I am going to say a few 
things to you whether you like it or not, and whether 
or not you give me permission to do so.” 

"Stop, Tom, if you say anything more in that strain, 
I will not go to the picnic with you.” 

"All right. Miss Betty, I don’t care a hang whether 
you go to the picnic with me or not, but this you 
have got to know, and know right now, I love you 
with all my mind, might and strength, and now that 
you know it I don’t care who else knows it. More 
than this I want to marry you, and I want you to tell 
me right now whether you will or not.” 

You see I got started and couldn’t stop. When we 
started to talk we were both sitting down, but in my 
excitement I had gotten up arid when I spoke of mar- 
riage Betty stood up and looked me square in the 
eye until I stopped talking. Say, but there was a 


184 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


chill in the atmosphere as she stood there looking at 
me after I had finished talking. I could think of 
nothing else but that she reminded me of a cucumber 
that had been on ice all night. I seemed to partake 
something of the chill, for I stopped talking and, fig- 
uratively speaking, pawed the air, striving to get 
started again, but it was of no use — words would not 
come. Miss Betty had better luck, for she pointed 
to one of the chairs and said, “Tom, sit down,” and 
down I sat. Miss Betty took the other chair and said : 

“Tom, I am sorry that you have obliged me to 
talk to you on this subject, but I propose to hold a 
looking-glass up to you and when I am done I am 
going to ask you if you don’t think you should ask 
my pardon for talking to me as you have this morn- 
ing. We will pass lightly over the fact that there are 
several other young ladies whom you have talked to 
as strongly as you have to me, and also one lady who 
was not §o young and who you talked even stronger 
to. But to come down to facts that more closely con- 
cern us both right now. You know I was born in 
the lap of luxury, so far as a country girl can be, 
that I have a perfectly lovely home and a father and 
mother who are willing and able to do anything for 
me that I ask. Now you ask me to change all this 
for what? Would I better my condition by accepting 
your offer? Would I help you by marrying you and 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


185 


going to live with you on your salary? Perhaps you 
think my father would support me as he always has, 
after I was your wife — no, you are too noble a man 
to have ever thought a thing of that kind ; I should 
not have said that. Tell me, Tom, have you really 
ever thought anything other than that you had an 
idea that you wanted to marry me? You do not an- 
swer; I thought you wouldn’t, so I will tell you a 
little something of myself. I decided long ago, Tom, 
that I would never marry. I have a mission in life 
and that mission is to become a writer; I have al- 
ready had some of my articles accepted, but it is hard, 
slow work. However, my path is before me, and look 
as far into the path as I can, there does not seem to , 
be any husband in it. For that reason we will dis- 
miss the husband part of it and I will tell you some- 
thing of how I feel toward you. In the first place I 
appreciate the fact that you saved my life once, but 
I do not feel that I owe you anything on that account. 
You did not know me then and would have saved any- 
one else just as readily. You are a kind, generous, 
brave man and I think a great deal of you, and if you 
were my brother I would not think there was a girl in 
this or any other town who was good enough for you. 
But you are growing brighter and for fear I will get 
you to thinking too much of yourself, I will stop talk- 
mg. 


186 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


^‘Well, Miss Betty, you have held me up to myself 
in good shape, but I am not going to ask your par- 
don for anything I have said, for I not only meant 
every word of it, but I love you now more than ever. 
At the same time, I am not going to stand in the 
way of your literary pursuits, but will take a week off 
and think this thing over.^* I then asked her what 
time she would be ready to go to the picnic, and with- 
out hesitating a moment she said : 

‘T will be ready at two o’clock.” 

From that time, and it was about ten o’clock when 
she said this, until two o’clock I was long on '‘think,” 
but I must say I was short on results. I was not ex- 
actly sure that I had been thrown over but I was quite 
sure that I had not been accepted. What it all meant 
I could not make out, but decided to watch for a 
chance in the afternoon and see if I could not get 
something more satisfactory. At two o’clock we 
started for the picnic grounds, which were a nice long 
walk from the house but hardly long enough with 
Betty for company. We talked of everything but 
ourselves, for I had made up my mind that there was 
no use in starting a nail unless I could drive it home, 
and I don’t think I ever enjoyed myself as much as 
I did during that walk. But we were soon at the 
grounds, where we joined the crowd, and it was not 
long until some of the young men claimed the atten- 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


187 


tion of Miss Dean. I did not lose sight of her, how- 
ever, and about four o’clock managed to get near 
enough to her to invite her to go rowing with me on 
the river. She loves to row and I happened to know 
that she had refused one or two offers to go boating, 
which made me feel all the better when she accepted 
my invitation. I had a nice little boat staked out 
and soon we were gliding over the water. As we got 
into the boat. Miss Betty took the oars and motioned 
me to a seat in the stern, which I took with pleasure, 
for it gave me a chance to study her, and say, Mr. 
Editor, but she was a splendid study. I am not up 
on dresses that the girls wear, but as I remember her 
now, she reminded me of a pleasing dream — one of 
those fluffy kind where you have all the nice things 
you want to eat, and where you travel over the 
country without touching the ground. Now I come 
to think of it watching her was very much like a dream 
of eating. 

Did you ever dream of eating all the nice things 
that you ever craved? Of course you have. Do you 
remember how they tasted? Of course you do, but it 
was not very satisfactory, was it? Well, my looking 
at Miss Betty when I realized that I had to be guarded 
with my tongue and keep my hands to myself, wasn’t 
very satisfying either. I never saw Miss Betty when 
she was so talkative as she was as she toyed with 


188 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


those oars, and you ought to have heard me trying to 
get a word in, in my own behalf. The worst of it 
was, she was talking of me most of the time. She told 
me how much her father thought of me ; what a good 
salesman I was; how well I kept the books, and a 
hundred other things until I felt like a fool. You see 
it struck me that she was doing this for two reasons ; 
first, so that I could have no excuse to tell her of 
my many good qualities, and second, that there would 
be no time for me to say anything. At last I got 
discouraged and began to wish that I could roll over- 
board and end my troubles by drowning. Just as I 
had closed my eyes to shut out the heavenly vision 
before me, I heard screams that seemed to come from 
every boat on the river and half of the people on the 
land. I jumped to my feet, forgetting about the little 
shell of a boat I was in, and before I could recover 
myself I was overboard. As I went under, I recalled 
the whole situation ; I wondered what all the scream- 
ing was about, but the most I thought of was my 
awkward tumble out of the boat. I was sure I could 
never face Miss Betty again, and my thought then was 
not to save myself, but to swim to the bottom of the 
river, get hold of something and stay there until I 
was done for. Suiting the action to the thought, I 
struck out for the bottom of the river. Just at this 
time my hands encountered the folds of a child’s 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


189 


dress; I grabbed it and caught not the dress alone, 
but the child that was in it. The child grasped me 
around the neck and then came a struggle for life. 
We came to the surface and I breathed, but the child’s 
grip was too fast and we went down again. With an 
almost superhuman effort, I partly unclasped one of 
the child’s arms from about my neck and once more 
we reached surface. This time we came up near a 
flat boat filled with men and boys, and were hauled 
out ; that is, I am told we were, but to tell the truth 
the last I knew was when we were making the effort 
to reach the surface the second time; the next I 
knew I was lying over a barrel suffering the tortures 
of the damned. After they decided that they had 
rolled me enough I was taken home and put to bed. I 
opened my eyes and told them as plain as I could 
without speaking to let me alone, and after awhile 
they concluded to do that very thing. 

As I look at it now, it was a very funny situation. I 
had been the principal actor in a very stirring event, 
but what that event was, or who the other party in 
it was, I did not have the least idea. Somehow I felt 
that I was in disgrace, and I made up my mind that 
I would not speak again until I was strong enough 
to walk, and then I would leave that section of the 
country for good and ever. I had gotten quite com- 


190 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


fortable when I heard Mrs. McLoud, Mr. Dean’s sis- 
ter, and Betty talking just outside my door. 

“Where is the dear boy,” said Mrs. McLoud, “I 
can never thank him enough for saving my little girl. 
I came just as soon as she was out of danger.” 

I could feel the color come into my face, but I 
forced myself to feign sleep. As soon as the ladies 
satisfied themselves that I was asleep and after Mrs. 
McLoud had kissed me half a dozen times, she turned 
to Miss Betty and said: 

“Now, you must tell me just how it all happened. 
Others have told me, -but I want to hear it from you. 
You were with the hero when he took his life in his 
hands and risked it to save my child.” 

“Well,” said Miss Betty, “I presume you have heard 
it all, but I love to tell it, for it was the most splendid 
thing I ever saw or heard of. I was rowing and Tom 
and, I were talking when all at once I heard everyone 
scream; I also saw Mamie as she fell from the boat 
into the river; we were in the swiftest of the current 
and below the boat she was in. My first thought was 
that I wished Tom was there, for I felt that he could 
save her ; the next thing I realized was that the boat 
was rocking, and I looked just in time to see Tom 
leave the boat, making the most graceful dive you 
ever saw. The next we all knew he came to the sur- 
face with Mamie in his arms ; he was exhausted, how- 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


191 


ever, and sank again for a moment before he finally 
handed her to the men in Johnson’s flat boat, and 
when they got him on board he fainted, but the doc- 
tor says he is all right now and that this sleep is the 
best thing in the world for him.” With this they 
went out. 

Now what do you think of that for luck? Wouldn’t 
it just frost you? I lay there and played sleep all 
day and wrote this when the good people, who don’t 
know what a big fraud I am, thought I was still sleep- 
ing. Won’t I be a hero when I conclude to wake up? 
Well, I should just guess. 


LETTER NUMBER TWENTY-THREE. 


San Francisco. 

They say that some people cannot stand pros- 
perity, but I don't think that would apply to me. 
There are things that I can't stand, however, or one 
thing at least, and that is to be turned down by a girl 
whom I would be willing to give my life for. The 
morning after I wrote my last letter to you I was a 
hero in the eyes of everyone in the town. It is true 
I had done nothing to merit it, but the people did 
not know that, and if I had told them the truth, not 
one of them would have believed it, so I concluded 
to take all of the praise I could get and try once more 
to get Betty Dean interested in my cause. 

It was on the afternoon of the eleventh of July that 
I had my last talk with Miss Betty ; she had seemed 
willing to keep out of my way all day and give every- 
one else the chance that I thought she ought to take. 
She did not seem to think so, though, and when even- 
ing came I was obliged to do a little scheming to get 
near her. I made up my mind that I would have it out 
with her then and there, and commenced the con- 
versation at once by saying, ‘‘Everyone has been say- 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 193 

ing nice things to me but you,- have you no kind 
word for me 

“Tom, I do believe you are getting vain ; what more 
can I say than what others have said?” 

“I want you to say something different.” 

“Oh, you do? Well, tell me what I am to say and 
perhaps I will say it.” 

“Tell me that you love me. Miss Betty, and all that 
others have said will be as nothing to that.” 

“Tom, you know I have forbidden you to speak 
that way to me.” 

“Now, Miss Betty, I know you have talked that 
way, but you must say something so that I may know 
how I stand, for I cannot go on this way much longer. 
I will not ask you to marry me now, but if you can 
just say that you love me, I will have something to 
wait for and will know just what to do.” 

“Tom, you are not a bit nice. Why do you try to 
force me to say that I love you? Clay Sterling is in 
love too, but he never told the girl that he wanted her 
to say that she loved him; he says that he first in- 
tends to make a name for himself in his chosen pro- 
fession, and you know Clay is rich now.” 

“So it is Clay Sterling, is it?” said I, and I walked 
off. 

“Come back here, you ninny^” I heard her say, then 
she broke into the most musical laugh I ever heard. 


194 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


At first I thought I would go back and have it out 
with her, and then I thought of Clay Sterling and 
how under present conditions he had so much better 
chance than I, and the thought came to me that I 
could go away and try my luck at getting rich. I felt 
sure that it would be a long time before Clay would 
make a name in his profession, and somehow I felt 
that if I were on an even footing with him, I would 
stand a good chance with the girl. I don’t know what 
reason I had for thinking this, but I was impressed 
that way just the same. 

I had heard of the wonderful fortunes made at 
Cape Nome and I decided that Cape Nome should 
know Tom Clingstone in the very near future. To 
me, the very next thing after decision is action, so I 
at once wrote a letter to Mr. Dean, in which I told 
him that I had decided to go to Cape Nome, that I 
had money enough to pay my expenses without call- 
ing on him for my wages and what he had on deposit 
for me. I also told him that if anything happened to 
me so that I should have no further use for the money, 
it was to go to Miss Betty. I bundled up what few 
things I wanted to take with me and caught the mid- 
night train out of Coldeck. Soon I was on the reg- 
ular overland train bound for Seattle, and as I slept 
at night my dreams were of gold nuggets or of see- 
ing Clay Sterling striving to climb up a mountain 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


195 


which was lettered ‘^success.’’ Each morning I would 
be awakened by what I thought was an echo of Betty’s 
laugh, and then I would be ashamed to find that I had 
likened the rattle of the wheels over the joints in the 
rails to the sweetest laugh that was ever heard. 

On the 1 6 th of July we reached Seattle, and as it 
was about two o’clock when we arrived, I started at 
once to find out all I could about the boats that were 
leaving for Cape Nome. Every man I talked to 
seemed to think that I needed a big outfit if I was 
going to that cold country and I felt the disadvantage 
of having no acquaintance on whom I could depend 
to tell me what to do. I made up my mind that I 
would not leave Seattle in a hurry, as I had heard 
some conflicting stories of what I needed to carry 
with me, and I wanted to be sure. I discovered that 
there was a boat to leave soon for Cape Nome, and 
the day she was to leave I was down at the wharf early 
in order to learn all that I could from the people. 

The boat was not to sail until the afternoon, but 
there were crowds of people around her all day. I 
saw what the others had and what I needed when 
I went, but I ran across some people who did not 
seem to have much use for Cape Nome or any other 
part of Alaska, and that set me to guessing. About 
one o’clock, however, I got into a little knot of men 
who were listening to a miner who had recently ar- 


1 % 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


rived from Cape Nome and was going back on this 
boat. “Yes,’’ said he, came from Cape Nome only 
last week, and I want to say that it is the richest coun- 
try that anyone ever saw.’’ I looked him over and 
he was exactly my idea of a miner; he had a long 
bushy beard, wore a miner’s jacket and top boots with 
his trousers legs tucked into them. 

‘Why didn’t you stay there?” said someone. And 
the miner answered, “I am going back on this boat 
and you bet I would not have shown up here if it had 
not been that I had to come to buy some machinery.” 

“Now,” I thought to myself, “here is a chance to 
find out just what I wanted to know,” and I watched 
and caught him when he was alone. I told him that 
I was intending to go to Cape Nome, but that I 
wanted to know first if I was on the right track, as I 
had heard some conflicting stories about the place, 
and I also wanted to know what sort of an outfit I 
ought to get and where the best place was to buy it. 
The miner, whose name was Tom Balcome, said he 
would be glad to give me all the information neces- 
sary; and he did not wait a minute, but commenced 
at once as follows: 

“So you have heard something against Cape Nome, 
have you? Well, don’t you let that bother you ; Cape 
Nome is all right. If you have a little money you can 
take up a claim and work it yourself and get rich 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


197 


without a question, and if you haven’t any claim and 
want to work for someone else, you can get from ten 
to fifteen dollars a day without any trouble. Some 
of these fellows who went up there with nothing and 
were too lazy to work have come back here cussing 
the place, but those fellows would be hard up any- 
where. Now, the best thing you can do is to get your 
outfit at once and go on this boat. I will give you a 
letter to a friend of mine and he will take you to an 
outfitter’s and help you pick out your stuff. I would 
like to have you go up on this boat, especially if you 
want to go to work for someone else for awhile, as I 
am in need of more help, or will be as soon as this 
boat arrives there with my machinery.” 

I followed him on board the boat and to a room 
on the door of which was marked ^‘Purser.” Here 
he wrote a note which he addressed to George Scott, 
Pierson Hotel. He gave me the letter, also direc- 
tions as to how I would find the hotel, and told me 
I had better hurry. I was so glad to find one honest 
man who seemed to take an interest in me, that I 
was doubly anxious to start on the same steamer with 
him, so I at once started out to hunt up Mr. Scott 
at the Pierson. It struck me that the location was 
not the best in the world, and that the appearance of 
the hotel did not indicate that it was patronized by 
the '"quality,” as Dan Hornbeam used to tell about, 


198 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


but I argued that there were so many people here 
now, that one could not choose his lodgings. I went 
in and found the woman who kept, the place and asked 
her where I could find Mr. George Scott. 

‘^Mr. George Scott,’’ said she, “I have no boarder 
by that name.” 

^^Oh, yes we have,” called out a voice from the 
other room. ^^He means Scotty, the goat.” 

‘‘I never thought of him,” said the landlady. “He 
is asleep there on the bench,” pointing to one of the 
benches in the hotel office. 

I looked the way she was pointing, and was going 
out in disgust when it occurred to me that there was 
something familiar about the figure she was point- 
ing to. I went over to the bench and lifting the hat 
from off the man’s face, found that I was looking into 
the eyes of Dan Hornbeam. The surprise was mu- 
tual ; Dan jumped to his feet and catching me by the 
hand said, “Hello, Tom, old man, how are you? You 
are just the fellow I want to see ; come to my room.” 
He hurried me off without giving me a chance to say 
a word until we were inside his own room with the 
door shut. 

“I was afraid,” said he, “that you would call me 
‘Dan’ and that wouldn’t do here. You see when I 
left Omaha I left in a hurry and didn’t have time to 
take anything with me; not even my own name, but 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


199 


that is a matter of little consequence, for a fellow can 
pick up a new name quicker than he can a new suit of 
clothes.” 

I handed him my letter from Tom Balcome and 
told him that I was in a hurry to get my outfit and 
get back on board the steamer. Dan read the letter 
and then lay back and laughed until the tears came 
to his eyes. 

''So you fell into the trap, did you? Well, as long 
as they haven’t got your money, we will keep you 
out of it.” 

"What do you mean, Dan?” said I. 

"I mean that this Cape Nome business is the big- 
gest fake on earth and the only men who are making 
money out of it are the transportation companies and 
the fellows who stay here and catch the suckers as 
they come in. Balcome sends you to me and I take 
you over to an outfitter’s and have you buy a lot of 
truck that you don’t want and could not use in a 
thousand years ; you pay double price for the stuff and 
after you are gone Balcome and I divide the commis- 
sion that we get from the outfitters.” 

"But,” said I, "how are you going to divide with 
him when the boat sails this afternoon and he is going 
back to his mine?” 

"That is all right, my boy, but all the mines he has 
are the suckers he catches each day, and as for his 


200 TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 

going on this boat, he goes on them all. Last week 
he went on two ; the day after to-morrow he will be 
sailing on another one. The fact is, Tom, Balcome 
is hired by the company who have steamship tickets 
and miners’ outfits to sell, and you will find him some 
day next week telling another lot of suckers about his 
mine in Cape Nome and the chances there are at that 
place for a young man after he has spent all of his 
money for a steamer ticket and an outfit,” and Dan 
went off into another fit of laughter. As for myself I 
had nothing to say. It was hard for me to believe 
that the honest appearing old miner was only a fake 
after all. 

After awhile I told Dan something of myself and of 
my desire to get rich for the sake of my employer’s 
daughter. I did not tell him the name, for I thought 
it too sacred to speak in the presence of a man like 
Dan Hornbeam. After I was through and Dan had 
listened attentively, he said: 

^Tom, you always were a sort of a shadow chaser 
and easily gulled. You may know a whole lot about 
some things, but when it comes to girls you are in the 
A, B, C Class, while I am through the High School. 
Now, Tom, if the girl will love you at all, she will love 
you the more if you haven’t a cent, and if she mar- 
ries you because you have a bigger pile of dough 
than the other fellow, all she wants of you is the stuff. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


201 


Now, Fve got a girl right here ; her mother runs this 
hotel, and the sweet little thing would go her whole 
length for me and she knows I haven’t a bean. She 
even went so far as to ask her mother if she was will- 
ing, and the old lady said, yes if I would act as runner 
for the hotel. Just imagine me spieling at the trains 
and boats for sleepers for my mother-in-law’s hotel, 
and a two-bit place at that. Well, I guess not. If I 
am going to hold up a man he has got to shell out 
more than two bits.” 

While we were talking who should walk in but Mr. 
Tom Balcome, the miner. He looked at me, then at 
Dan in a surprised way, and I asked him how he hap- 
pened to get left. 

^'Don’t mind him,” said Dan, as he seemed to be 
trying to find something to say, “he is a friend of mine 
from the East and I put him on to your little game.” 

I made up my mind that I would not stay with that 
gang, and as soon as I could, went back to my board- 
ing house, which, if it was not more respectable than 
the one where Dan was, did not hold any bad char- 
acters that I knew of. The next morning Dan called 
for me bright and early and told me that he wanted 
to have a good talk with me. 

“You see,” said Dan, “I think I used you rather 
mean in the past, for you thought I was honest and I 
wasn’t. I have never done anything very bad, just 


202 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


cracked a few cribs, that’s all, and I want to live 
square and am willing to do it if I can get a good 
start. Now, I have a proposition to make. There is 
nothing here for either of us, there is nothing in Cape 
Nome for you, so let us go to San Francisco and we 
can both get work at something, live square and be 
able to look any man in the face. I will take my own 
name again and if we can’t make it go any other way, 
we will look up some rich widows and throw our- 
selves away on them.” 

^'But how about your girl here, Dan?” 

“Oh, she doesn’t count ; when I marry, I am going 
to marry money. It’s just as easy to give a girl ^guff’ 
that’s got money as one that’s strapped.” 

Dan seemed so honest that I believed him, and 
the result of that talk was that the next day found us 
aboard the steamer Walla Walla, bound for San Fran- 
cisco. This was my first trip at sea and I went on 
board with fear and trembling. Going down through 
the sound it was delightful, but after we had left Vic- 
toria, B. C., and had passed Cape Flattery it was 
decidedly different. They put me away on a shelf in 
what they called a “state room,” and I divided my 
time between thinking what I had eaten that did not 
agree with me, and trying to hold myself on the shelf. 
Dan did not seem to mind it in the least, but I made 
a solemn vow that if ever I got safe ashore again, I 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


203 


would walk around the next time I wanted to go any- 
where. Three days after leaving Victoria we landed 
in San Francisco. Our first work was to get a room, 
which we did in a respectable place at two dollars per 
week, and then we were ready for work. The next 
thing was to get the work, but I will be obliged to tell 
you in my next letter about that. 


LETTER NUMBER TWENTY-FOUR. 


San Francisco, Cal. 

Looking for work is not the most pleasant job in 
the world, even if you are willing to do anything to 
make an honest living. Dan says there is nothing so 
discouraging to a fellow who has gone wrong once, 
as to be looking for work and to be turned down at 
every corner, and I guess he is right, for it was dis- 
couraging enough for me, and I am sure I have never 
gone wrong in the sense that Dan meant it. 

For years Dan has hated the sight of a policeman ; 
he seemed to think they were his natural enemies, but 
he has changed his rhind a little now, and this is how 
it happened. We had been looking for work a few 
days, with no success, when one evening we walked 
into a restaurant to get our supper and to plan our 
hunt for the next day. Dan was not feeling any too 
well, as he had been turned down hard several times 
by men who might have let him down easy, as. he 
expressed it, when in walked a fine specimen of the 
San Francisco police force. He had come in for his 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


205 


supper as we had, and I would not have given him a 
second thought if it had not have been that I noticed 
Dan watching him. “What is the matter ?’’ said I. “Is 
he an old friend of yours ?’’ 

“No,” said Dan, “I never saw him before, but I 
would like to swat him one just for luck.” 

• “But if you never saw him before and know noth- 
ing about him, why do you feel so towards him?” 

“Why? Because he is a policeman, of course. I 
never see one of those duffers but I feel like swatting 
him one for luck.” 

“Now look here, Dan, you must not talk that way. 
The policeman is the friend of every law abiding citi- 
zen, and you are law abiding; therefore, he is a friend 
of yours. He is the guardian of the law and if you 
will stop and think you will realize that we must have 
law and order or no one would feel safe for a minute.” 

“I suppose you are right, Tom, but I would like 
to swat him just the same, and I would not mind 
giving that big nigger standing by the door grinning, 
a poke in the ribs, too. Just to think that black 
sucker has a good job and is fat and sleek and you 
and I can’t get a chance to shovel dirt in the street.” 

“But it isn’t anything against him, Dan, that he is 
well fixed. Most likely by the time we have been 
in San Francisco as long as he has been, we will be 
a long way better off than he is. You must not get 


206 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


discouraged because we haven’t struck it rich in a 
minute.” 

^'That’s all right, Tom, but you are putting up for 
both of us, and I am ashamed to say that you did 
the same thing once before when I shouldn’t have let 
you.” 

Just at this time a gentleman who had been sitting 
at the next table got up from his place and sat down 
by the side of Dan, and it seemed he had heard the 
whole of our talk, but we had been so interested that 
we had not noticed him. 

'‘Excuse me, gentlemen,” said he, “my name is 
Bowen and I could not help but hear your conversa- 
tion. I thought perhaps I might help you.” 

Dan and I were all eyes and ears for we thought 
only of work and I was somewhat disappointed when 
he continued as follows : “You see the big policeman, 
whom your friend Dan seems to want to mix up with, 
is a friend of mine and one of the most accommo- 
dating fellows you ever ran afoul of.” Then turning 
to Dan, he said, “If you are still of the same mind 
I will try to fix it for you.” 

Dan was somewhat taken aback, but realizing that 
it would be the part of a coward to back out, he said, 
“All right, you fix it and if you fix it in five minutes, 
I will be ready.” 

At this Mr. Bowen left us and went over to where 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 207 

the policeman sat eating. The police, after hearing 
what Mr. Bowen had to say, laughed, nodded his head 
and finishing his cup of coffee, started with Mr. 
Bowen for our table. 

''Come on, boys,” said Mr. Bowen, "it’s all fixed,” 
and the four of us left the restaurant together. We 
soon found ourselves in a vacant room over a saloon 
with only the proprietor of the saloon as an addition 
to our party. 

The policeman, Mr. Doyle, was a fine looking 
specimen of an athlete, and when he laid aside his 
coat and vest, I made up my mind that Dan might 
have a hard time to swat him. 

"Now,” said Doyle, turning to Dan, "I understand 
that you have a natural dislike to all policemen, and 
you have decided that if you could swat me once you 
would feel relieved. I told my friend, Mr. Bowen, 
that I was willing you should do a little swatting, but 
I proposed to get in a mouthful while you were get- 
ting a meal. That’s fair, isn’t it ?” 

Dan agreed to the fairness of the suggestion and 
in a minute they were at it. Dan had no science at 
all and was only good at rough and tumble fighting. 
The policeman was a large man and had a small 
amount of science, and withal was a hard hitter. The 
result was easy to guess ; Dan was no match for the 
policeman and measured his length on the floor sev- 


208 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


eral times in a very short time, and the worst of it 
was, that he did not swat the policeman once. I 
thought Bowen and the saloon keeper would burst 
themselves laughing, but the policeman was the 
worst; he strutted around as though he had gained 
the champion belt. As we were about to go Doyle 
said, “I think I ought to have a chance at this other 
one to pay for my trouble.” He pointed to me as 
he spoke and he couldn’t have pleased me better, for 
while he was having his bout with Dan, I had been 
taking his measure and I had decided that I could 
show him a trick or two. I look smaller than Dan, 
but am in reality about fifteen pounds heavier, he 
weighing one hundred and eighty pounds while I 
weigh all of two hundred. 

Bowen said, “No, let the kid go, you have won 
laurels enough.” But the saloon keeper chimed in 
and helped the thing along for another fight. Dan 
said he thought one was enough to go into retire- 
ment at one time. 

“Well,” said Mr. Bowen, “what do you say, Tom?” 

“I say,” said I, “that as long as we are here and 
Mr. Doyle thinks that he hasn’t had exercise enough, 
we had best let the show go on.” And at the time 
I said this I was pulling off my coat and vest. 

“Good,” echoed both the saloon keeper and Doyle, 
and we got squared without any formalities. Doyle 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


209 


came at me with a rush, but he only hit the air, as I 
side-stepped and handed him one on the ear that sent 
him quite across the room and laid him out full 
length on the floor. When Mr. Doyle came at me 
again, I could see that he was mad and I also under- 
stood that if I did not succeed in knocking him out 
that I would get a terrible beating. He evidently 
thought my first blow was a chance shot, for he came 
at me with more of a rush the next time. I stopped 
his blows until I got an opening and then laid him 
out again. He regained his feet and we were about 
to close again when the saloon keeper jumped in and 
separated us. The idea had just struck him that we 
were having no rest and as he saw that I was putting 
up a good fight, he thought we ought to go at it 
more like fighters. After a few minutes' rest we came 
together again. This time Doyle came at me with 
more caution, but his anxiety to finish me up quick 
got the better of him, and he left me an opening that 
the blacksmith had taught me to take advantage of. 
I dropped a little to let his right arm go over my 
head and at the same time I hit him one under the 
chin that settled the fight* It was ten minutes before 
he came to and the first thing he said was, “What 
fell on me, anyhow?" You ought to have seen Dan; 
I never saw so much joy depicted on any one man's 
face as there was on his, but he did not say much. 


210 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


only after retiring to a private room down stairs, he 
addressed Doyle, saying, “Say, old^sox, that young 
fellow there is a friend of mine ; he is the fellow who 
carries the swats. 

'That is all right,” said Doyle, “but there was a 
time when ^ou thought you had them, wasn't there ?” 

After the fight we all got better acquainted, and 
when the saloon keeper found that we were looking 
for work, he offered me the position of night bar- 
tender. I thanked him but declined. 

“But,” said he, 'T thought you were looking for 
work.” 

“I am, but I have a little money left yet; enough 
for Dan and myself for a few weeks, and I am going 
to try to get something to do that I would not be 
ashamed to write to my mother about.” Everyone 
looked first at me, then at the saloon keeper, who 
said : 

“Right you are, my boy. Stick to that and you will 
win out. I wish I had done the same thing.” 

Our little meeting broke up then, but before we 
parted Mr. Bowen made us promise that we would 
meet him the next morning at eight o’clock at the 
same restaurant we had first met at. When we got 
back to our own room that night, Dan acted like a 
kid; he danced about the room and squared off at 
everything, then he would come over to me and ask 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 211 

how I did it and where I learned how. I told him 
of my experience with the blacksmith, and a few 
other things that interested him in that line. '‘Well,’’ 
said Dan, ‘'you are a trump card, sure enough. Just 
think how you swatted that cop,” and then he would, 
lay down on the bed and roll and laugh. 

“Dan,” said I, after he had carried on about as long 
as I thought he ought to, “what do you think of 
Mr. Bowen and what do you suppose he wants us to 
meet him for in the morning?” 

“I don't know, Tom, I can’t make that fellow out. 
He has an eye like a hawk and he has something up 
his sleeve for one of us, whether it is good or bad. 
If I had been at anything crooked lately I should be 
afraid of him, but as it is, I am willing to look him 
up and see it out.” 

“Dan, why did you change your name when you 
left Omaha?” 

“It was this way. I got tired of the kind of life 
I was leading and I made up my mind that when I 
got out of that scrape I would turn over a new leaf 
and never do anything again that the law could touch 
me for, so when I got loose I ran away from the 
town, not the law, mind you, but from my compan- 
ions, and I changed my name, thinking it would be 
easier to live a new life. I found out afterwards 
though, that the only way to lead a new life was to 


212 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


do it with my own name and I had decided to change 
back to the old one as soon as I could leave Seattle. 
I knew when I saw you that my chance had come to 
commence life anew and I hitched on and here we 
are.” 

The next morning found us eating breakfast at the 
restaurant where we were to meet Mr. Bowen, and 
before we were half through he came in and sat down 
with us. After we were through breakfast he invited 
us up to his room. This we could not understand, 
but we were willing to take chances. As for myself, 
I rather liked Mr. Bowen and felt sure that he meant 
only good to us, besides that he was a very inter- 
esting talker and could talk on any subject. Soon 
after we arrived at his room, the secret was out 
After getting us nicely seated and giving each of us 
a cigar, he said, “Now, boys, I am nearly twice your 
age and can call you boys, you need work and you 
don’t care what you do, so it is honest labor, and I 
need help and have taken a fancy to both of you. In 
the first place, I want to tell you that I am a detec- 
tive,” and he threw back his coat and showed us his 
star, “and the work I want you to do is detective 
work, and detective work takes men with nerve and 
men who are willing to do exactly as they are told. 
Now, before we go any further, are you willing to 
accept the position; what do you say, Dan?” 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


213 


'Tt is a pretty good turn over for me, Mr. Bowen, 
but if Tom says it is all right, it is a go with me.” 

^‘Well, Tom, what do you say?” inquired Mr. 
Bowen. And I, feeling that I needed excitement more 
than anything else, told him that he could count on 
me. 

''Look here, Mr. Bowen,” said Dan, "there is some- 
thing about this that I don’t understand. We are 
strangers in this town ; you never saw us until yester- 
day ; you must know a great many other men whom 
you could get and who would be glad of the job, and 
I don’t understand why you take up with us. It 
makes me think of a dime novel I once read, a sort 
of a boy detective business.” 

Mr. Bowen laughed and said, "It may look a little 
that way, Dan, but I think I have sized you up all 
right and I will tell you something. In the first place 
w'hen I saw you in the restaurant last night, I spotted 
you for a crook and after I got interested in your con- 
versation I made up my mind that I would bring you 
and Doyle together and get better acquainted with 
you. When you accepted my invitation to meet 
Doyle, I was satisfied that the police were not look- 
ing for you and that you were honest in your inten- 
tion to live a new life. You are going to be honest, 
Dan, because you have gotten tired of being dishon- 
est and you find it doesn’t pay. Your friend Tom 


214 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


is honest from principle, and he is too apt to think 
everybody else is honest, but you are suspicious of 
everybody and it will take you a long time to out- 
grow it. You see I believe you are sincere, Dan, and 
your knowledge of criminal life will be a great thing 
for you in this line of business. Do you understand 
now why I offer you a position?” 

All the time Mr. Bowen had been talking Dan sat 
in open mouthed wonder and when he was through 
and Dan had recovered himself, he said, ^‘Say, Mr. 
Bowen, with Tom telling me what is right all the time 
and you reading me like an open book, I have just 
got to be honest, now that is all there is to it.” 

Mr. Bowen laughed and said, *Tt is settled then,” 
and he shook hands with us both, to bind the bargain. 

Dan is always thinking up something, and just as 
we had everything settled, he said, ^'Hold on there, 
Mr. Bowen, how about Tom ; if I can be of such as- 
sistance to you, what can he do ?” 

“Never you mind him,” said Mr. Bowen, “I have 
just the place for him,” and with that we followed him 
to his office, where I was installed as office man. I 
don’t know what has become of Dan; I have not 
seen him for a week. The last time I saw him he 
was enthusiastic over the work and was looking bet- 
ter than I ever saw him before. You may think it 
strange that I do not know where he is, but it did not 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


215 


take me long to find out that if Mr. Bowen wanted 
me to know anything he would tell me. I like what I 
have seen of the business, and if I could keep the loss 
of Betty out of my mind I think I would be perfectly 
happy. 


LETTER NUMBER TWENTY-FIVE. 


San Francisco, California. 

Dan showed up this morning and scared me nearly 
to death, for he had a black eye and a generally used 
up appearance. Mr. Bowen came in with him, and 
when I noticed that he was smiling I thought perhaps 
things were not so bad as they might be. Mr. Bowen 
was soon called away and Dan then told me his story, 
which was quite an eventful one, but perhaps I had 
best give it in his own words. 

“You see,’^ said Dan, “when I disappeared from 
here I left port under sealed orders as it were, that 
is to say, one of the points Mr. Bowen impressed 
upon me was that I should tell no one, not even you, 
because he said we would not be obliged to do so 
much guessing if our plans were miscarried. Now 
that is all over, however, and I can talk. It seems 
there had been some diamonds snatched from a jew- 
eler up here on Kearney street and the jay who was 
robbed couldn’t tell a thing about the guys that 
swiped the sparklers. There had been a half dozen 
different men put onto the job before Mr. Bowen got 
any show, and I happened to go up there with him 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


217 


when he went to get his pointers. I had shadowed a 
few easy ones for him and he praised me up a good 
bit, but he had no thought of giving me any real 
work. The jeweler gave us to understand that the 
only way to trace the thieves was by the diamonds, 
as he hadn’t the least idea what the men looked like. 
Mr. Bowen asked him who else was in the store at 
the time and he said no one but a woman he had 
been waiting upon. Mr. Bowen asked him to describe 
the woman, but the duffer could not even do that; 
he could only say she was dressed in black, wore a 
widow’s veil and was of medium height. 

After getting as good a description of the stones 
that had been stolen, as we could, I asked Mr. Bowen 
to turn the case over to me as I thought I might be 
able to clear it up. After a little talk he concluded to 
do this and gave me the written description of the 
stones. I knew by this that he had not dropped to my 
scheme and so I let him think I was off for the pawn 
shops to see what I could find. That night I took in 
all the shows which, thanks to the star Mr. Bowen 
furnished me, did not cost me a 'nick’ for admittance, 
and down at the Orpheum, ts last place I went to and 
about ten o’clock, I struck the lead I was looking for. 
You see I was not looking for sparklers, but for the 
girl with the widow’s weeds, and I found her. She 
was with a flash looking cove that I had never seen 


218 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


before, so all I could do was to wait for the show to 
spill out and then shadow my game/’ 

^'But tell me, Dan,” said I, ''what made you think 
of looking for a woman and how did you know this 
was the one who was in the store ?” 

"Say, kid, you would never make a detective, if you 
don’t catch on quicker than that. As soon as I heard 
from the shop keeper that there was a woman in the 
store at the time, I minded the gang that I used to 
know in the East. They always took a woman with 
them and if there was no trouble in getting away, the 
woman would only be an incident, but if she saw that 
the boys were going to have trouble in cleaning up, 
she made herself an accident, that is to say, she would 
fall or faint so as to block the shop keeper’s way and 
give the boys a chance to get out into the crowd. I 
knew the girl who worked that racket East, and I 
knew that both of her pals were doing time in an East- 
ern pen, and it struck me that this might be the same 
old girl with a new set of stokers. I was sure if it was 
this one, that there was no use in looking for the 
sparklers in any pawn shop in San Francisco, for un- 
loading the stuff too near home was what caught her 
pals before. 

Well, my guess was right about finding her at some 
theater, for she is daft on shows, as I happened to 
know. I shadowed her and her steady to Ellis street. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


219 


where I saw them go into a pretty nice sort of a hash 
house, and then I left them. I knew I was on a hot 
trail and I slept that night at a turkish bath house just 
to cool off. The next day I dressed myself the best I 
knew how, and called at the house with the intention 
of engaging board there. After I had rung the bell 
I chanced to think that I was a detective and playing 
the part of a gentleman, and I wondered how I would 
get along without making any fool breaks. The door 
opened and the nicest little blonde that I have seen 
for many days, stood before me. Say, Tom, I thought 
about you and began to think that I was having some 
of your luck. I wanted to chuck the little one under 
the chin and ask her for a kiss, and perhaps I would 
if she had not called me to time by asking me what I 
wanted. 

‘Excuse me, lady,’ said I, ‘but when you opened the 
door you flashed so much loveliness on me that I 
wasn’t sure but I had reached the door of heaven by 
mistake.’ 

She laughed and said I had better stop my nonsense 
and tell her what I wanted. She tried to be severe, 
but I knew I owned her just the same. 

‘Well,’ said I, ‘if you must know my business, I 
called to see if I could get board and room here.’ 

‘I guess you can,’ said she, ‘but you will be obliged 


220 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


to see Mrs. Kirkland about that. If you will step into 
the parlor I will call her.^ 

I stepped into the parlor, and say, Tom, talk about 
a home-like place — a place that’s a cross between a 
home on earth and a heaven the good folks tell us 
about, that parlor was just the thing. You may laugh 
at me, Tom, but there was something familiar about 
that parlor. I could not tell what it was, for it was 
something that I could not describe, and it took me 
back to my old home town in Massachusetts, and to 
another parlor that I had not allowed myself to think 
of for years ; a parlor where I last saw the only wo- 
man on earth who could have made a man of me. 
You didn’t know I ever had a love story in my life, 
did you, Tom ? You are not the only one in this town 
who has had palpitation of the heart. While I sat 
there waiting for Mrs. Kirkland, I went all over my 
last meeting with my old sweetheart. I remembered 
how I pleaded and I remembered about her tell- 
ing what she had heard about my wild tricks, some 
of which were not so, but most of them, I am sorry 
to say were. Finally, I said to her: 

Westa,’ her name was Vesta Dawson, ‘if you will 
accept me I will be everything that is good and true, 
but if you refuse me I will not answer for myself, for 
I know not what will become of me.’ How well I 
remembered her answer: 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 221 

T have consulted my friends, Dan, and have decided 
to take their advice, which is to refuse your offer.’ 

Then she began to talk about wanting to be good 
friends always, and never forget that we had been 
playmates and friends since childhood. But I turned 
from her without saying good-bye and left the house. 
That same night I left the home of my childhood and 
native city, and never yet have I set foot in it again. 
I have never written home, and have tried hard to 
forget both it and her. As I sat there thinking, the 
tears came into my eyes. It seemed as though I had 
been there an hour, although it was really not more 
than half that time. I tried to shake off the spell that 
was on me, and rising went to the mantel and took up 
a small frame. I looked at the picture it held and there 
beheld my own photograph just as I looked eight 
years before. Just then I heard a rustle of a dress 
and turning found myself face to face with the subject 
of my thoughts, Vesta Dawson. The room was rath- 
er dark and she did not recognize me, but said : 

‘You sent for me?’ 

‘No,’ said I, ‘I sent for Mrs. Kirkland. I would 
never send for one who sent me away, and Vesta Daw- 
son, did that.’ 

I think I must have said the wrong thing, for as 
sure as fate, the little woman threw up her hands and 
fell over. She would have fallen to the floor, if I 


222 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


had not caught her. I laid her on the couch and was 
thinking I would have to raise the house, when who 
should walk in but the little blonde. She seemed to 
know just what to do, and as she was not in the least 
frightened, I guessed she must have been doing a lit- 
tle rubbernecking. The blonde did her work so well 
that I thought I ought to jolly her a little and said 
to her : 

‘You are as useful as you are good looking, and I 
am glad to know you are a sensible girl withal.^ 

Ts that so?’ said she. ‘Well, I am not running 
away from the fool killer, and he is expected here 
every minute. What did you say to Mrs. Kirkland, 
anyway.’ 

By this time Vesta Dawson, or Mrs. Kirkland, as 
I knew her to be, began to come to herself, and as she 
raised herself up on the couch, she said: 

‘Oh, Dan, you gave me such a shock.’ 

I started for the door when she said, ‘Don’t go, 
Dan, I must talk with you.’ 

‘But,’ said I, ‘what will your husband say ?’ 

‘I have no husband, Dan, and even if I had, I would 
want to ask you to forgive me, as I have asked the 
forgiveness of your father and mother years ago.’ 

I could not withstand that appeal so sat down on the 
couch beside her, and we talked for four solid hours. 
It seems that about two years after I left home she 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


223 


got acquainted with Mr. Kirkland, and taking the ad- 
vice of her relatives, married him. He claimed that 
he was rich. He was a widower and much older than 
Vesta, but they were married and came at once to 
California, where Mr. Kirkland hired a large board- 
ing house and installed her in it and never did a thing 
from that day until the day he died, which was about 
four years ago. After he died Mrs. Kirkland kept on 
with the boarding house, and made a much better 
success of it than ever before; in fact, she owns the 
furniture complete, and has the thing so systematized 
that she has little to do outside of the overseeing, 
which seems to be easy for her, but would drive me 
crazy. 

After we had talked for about four hours she asked 
me how I happened to come to her house, and I told 
her I was looking for a place to board and room, and 
had stumbled into her house by accident. She then 
showed me a room and I offered to pay her in ad- 
vance, but this she declined. She struck me the hard- 
est when she asked me what business I was in. I had 
known it would come and I wanted to tell her the 
truth, but I did not dare to quite so soon. So I told 
her that I had been to Alaska, and had had bad luck, 
getting back to San Francisco with but little money, 
and that I was now looking for work. She swallowed 


224 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


this story so easy that I thought I must be a past mas- 
ter of the art. 

‘Dan/ she said, after we had gott^en settled down 
to a full understanding of our conditions, ‘I am not 
sorry that you are not rich, for it will give me a chance 
to show you that I trust you, and if you do not get 
work at once you must not worry/ 

Say, Tom, is it a wonder that women are gulled? 
I am glad she refused me that once for I never would 
have appreciated her as I do now, and if I ever do 
anything to make her think less of me, may the old 
Nick take me home, for there is where I would be- 
long.^^ 

“Never mind that part of it, Dan, go ahead with 
the story about the diamonds, you know.” 

“Well, Tom, that’s the part that makes me feel a 
little sheepish. You see Vesta trusted me to all of her 
history, and gave me to understand that she would 
never question a word I said again, but I did not have 
the confidence in her to tell her what I was up to; 
not that I did not feel assured that she would be as 
true as she knew how, but I thought if she knew what 
I did, it would upset her and she would without mean- 
ing to, spoil my plans. The next morning I saw my 
two birds at breakfast, but I didn’t let them see me. 
I questioned Vesta about her boarders, and in a round 
about way found out all she knew about Mr. Murdock 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


225 


and his wife; this was the name my two birds went 
by. I found also that the room I occupied was next 
to the one occupied by them and was connected by 
a door. Mr. Murdock passed himself off as an agent 
for some Eastern company, but Mrs. Kirkland re- 
marked that he had a great deal of time to himself. I 
was satisfied that I was on the right lead, but I was 
puzzled as to where the diamonds were kept. I felt 
sure, however, that they were hid somewhere for I 
knew they would not carry them about with them, and 
I felt pretty sure that they would not pawn them in 
San Francisco, neither would they send them East 
to a confederate. My reason for this was that the 
lady had had bad experience with similar cases at 
other times. The next time I found the couple out of 
their room, I went in and examined the whole thing 
carefully. I got in with a skeleton key and was not 
much disappointed when I found nothing. I took 
pains at the same time to fix the bolt on the door that 
led from their room to mine, so that it would be no 
bar to my opening it from my side ; then I fitted a 
key to the door and found that I could enter when I 
chose. I thought I would call upon them that night 
after they were asleep, but I heard something that 
day that changed my plans. Mrs. Kirkland told me 
that Mr. Murdock had been summoned East, and that 
they were to give up their room Sunday morning. 


226 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


They had paid their board a full month in advance, 
but Mrs. Murdock told her to keep the money as they 
felt they had been so nicely treated, that they should 
have given her a month’s notice anyway. 

^But,’ said Vesta, Mon’t you think it strange that 
Mrs. Murdock should ask me not to say a word about 
their going to the other boarders?’ She added, T 
was impressed to tell you and I really don’t know why 
unless it was that she asked me not to mention it.’ 

I thought at times that I ought to report to Mr. 
Bowen, and then I would say to myself, T took this 
job to make a start for myself, and I guess I will stick 
it out.’ I knew I would not do things according to 
rule, but I argued, Vhat’s the ^Mif” if I do them?’ 
Saturday night or rather Sunday morning about three 
o’clock I tried my key in the door leading from my 
room into theirs and carefully opened the door. They 
were sleeping like two dead ones, but as I had a big 
thing at stake, I took the precaution to give them 
both a good dose of chloroform, then I tied their 
hands and feet and went on a still hunt for sparklers. 
I don’t think I missed any and there was a good 
bunch of them. 

It was five o’clock before I got through with my 
search and I had them all packed away in a nice little 
grip, the property of Mr. Murdock. My next move 
was to get back into my own room, which I did after 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


227 


giving my patients a little more to quiet them or to 
hold them quiet. Then I stepped quietly out of the 
house and, striking a cab, went at once to Mr. Bowen^s 
house. It is an easy thing to get an audience with 
your chief, especially after you have not shown up for 
a few days, and I soon followed my name into the 
house. Just as I was ushered into the reception 
room Mr. Bowen, dressed in a bath robe, walked in 
through another door. Say, Tom, perhaps I didn’t 
feel bigger than Captain Kidd about that time. 

'Well, Dan,’ said Mr. Bowen, 'what’s the good 
news, for I see you have some?’ 

'If you wanted to have some people arrested, Mr. 
Bowen, how would you do it?’ 

'I would step up to the telephone and order it done, 
Dan. Why ?’ 

'Well,’ said I, 'the diamond thieves are at such a 
number Ellis street, in the second story front room, 
they are tied and have had a good dose of chloroform, 
so they won’t be hard to catch.’ 

'All right, Dan, but where are the diamonds?’ 

'Right in this grip,’ said I, 'every one of them,’ 
and as he went to the 'phone I told him it was a man 
and a woman they would find there. They found Mr. 
and Mrs. Murdock very nearly dead, but they brought 
them out and I understand they are not feeling just 
as good as they should now. 


228 TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 

Bowen says I did the job in a very unbusinesslike 
manner, but I got the sparklers, didn’t I ? The hard- 
est part was to come, for I realized that I must go 
back and square myself with Mrs. Kirkland. When 
I got back, there was the most exciting time I ever 
saw ; all of the boarders were talking at once. I met 
Mrs. Kirkland and she was so glad to find that I was 
still alive; she had been hunting everywhere for me. 
At first I told her that I had waked up early and went 
out for a walk, and it was not until afternoon and 
everything had quieted down, that I told her the true 
story and the part that I had played in it. She was 
surprised of course, but when she found that I had a 
situation and was more than willing to board with 
her for life, she seemed perfectly satisfied. So you 
see, Tom, while you have had a dozen or more love 
affairs and none of them have come to a head, I have 
had only one and the thing is all settled in a week, 

and with a girl that is all wool and a y , no, she 

isn’t a yard wide, but she is all right just the same.” 

*'But, Dan, how about that black eye?” 

*^Oh, that happened this morning. I was walking 
down the street when who should I see but a chap 
I once knew East; in fact, he did me a mean trick 
once, and when I found there was a reward offered for 
him, I often thought I would like to secure it. I did 
not know how to have him arrested in order to get 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


229 


the reward, so I just smashed him one for luck. He 
was game and fought back, but in a few minutes the 
cops came and run us both in, then I sent for Mr. 
Bowen, and told him what I had done.” 

‘‘What did he say to you, Dan?” 

“He said that I had a lot of originality, but he 
thought if my head held out and no one killed me, I 
might make a detective yet.” 


LETTER NUMBER TW^TY-SIX. 

San Francisco, California. 

I heard someone remark once that San Francisco 
was a swift place, and as the remark was new to me, 

I pondered over it quite a little. We speak of a swift 
horse, or a swift running brook, but what a swift town 
meant was something more than I could understand. 

If the man had said St. Louis was a swift town, I could 
have understood that, because I should have thought 
he meant it was swift when the cyclone struck it. 

I look back now and think I was a little green, for 
the swiftness of San Francisco is very apparent to a 
fellow who is on the spot. Swift? I should say 
it was swift! The boys at fifteen are older than 
their fathers, and the girls are older at twelve, than 
the girls back in Hardacre are at thirty. It would 
most likely make the people smile to hear a man talk 
of girls at thirty, but that would be nothing in Hard- 
acre. I have known girls there to be cutting teeth * 
at thirty-five. Swift? Well, well, a detective’s office 
is the place to find out about the swift ones. Why, 
only last week there was a girl standing in front of a 
store window in Market street, looking at the new 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


231 


goods displayed there, when a man stepped up and 
introduced himself. He told her he was very much 
impressed with her appearance, asked her a few ques- 
tions, and in fifteen minutes they were on their way 
to the minister’s to be married. Three days after- 
wards the bridegroom called at our agency to see if 
we could not help him hunt up his wife. He said she 
had quit him without saying as much as “By your 
leave.” 

One of the swiftest things I have been mixed up in 
myself was Dan Hornbeam’s wedding, which, as Dan 
would express it, was pulled off week before last. I 
was best man and wore a dress suit. Just think of 
that ! Me in a dress suit ! Dan said I was just dead 
swell, and I think myself that I cut a pretty good fig- 
ure. Dan came into the office one morning and said 
that Mrs. Kirkland had rented his room to someone 
else, and it was a case of getting married or hunting 
up a new boarding place. As he liked the boarding 
house and did not have time to hunt up another, he 
thought he had better get married at once, especially 
as the boarding mistress seemed perfectly willing. 

This was the way he told it to Mr. Bowen and my- 
self, but after Mr. Bowen had gone out he told a far 
different story to me. Dan had been quite fortunate 
as a detective. The man he had the scrap with turned 
out to be one of the diamond robbers, but the reward 


232 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


that had been offered for him was for another offense. 
Dan collected the five-hundred dollars reward, and 
you would have thought he had discovered a gold 
mine by the way he sw^ng himself. He got the check 
one morning about nine o’clock, and the first thing 
he did was to go to the bank and get it exchanged 
for twenty-dollar gold pieces. He said that paper 
which said on the face of it that it was good for five 
hundred dollars might be all right, and again it might 
lie to a fellow. The shiners he knew were all right. 
I went up to lunch with Dan that day, and after we 
were through and the boarders had all gone, Dan 
said to Mrs. Kirkland: ^T want you to take care of 
this for me,” and with that he commenced tossing 
twenty-dollar gold pieces into her lap. There were 
twenty-five of them, and after the last one had landed, 
Dan said: “Now, don’t think you are the whole 
thing in this ranch. I own part of the stock myself.” 
Then we walked out, leaving Mrs. Kirkland wonder- 
ing where Dan’s, good fortune had come from. 

I started to tell you about Dan’s wedding. It was 
great. I was introduced to more nice looking girls 
than I ever saw together in one bunch. Dan and 
Mrs. Kirkland were married at nine o’clock in the 
evening, and then we had supper. After the supper 
the bride and groom held a reception. After the re- 
ception we danced until about two o’clock in the 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


233 


morning. While we were dancing the bride and 
groom disappeared. We hunted the house over from 
top to bottom, but they were nowhere to be found. 
I thanked Betty in my mind a hundred times that 
night for making me learn to dance, and I did enjoy 
myself, even if Betty was far away, although when 
the whole thing was over, I felt the loss of her more 
than ever. The San Francisco girls are all right, but 
my heart is occupied just now with the thoughts of 
a girl who may be the wife of someone else while I 
am thinking of her. What a fellow doesn’t know 
ought not to bother him, and as long as I don’t know 
for sure that Clay Sterling and Betty are married, 
I am going to love her memory, and if she is married, 
I hope I may never find it out. 

I expect the right thing to do in writing about a 
wedding is to describe the costumes, but beyond the 
fact that both Dan and myself had on dress suits, I 
hardly think the world will be any wiser about the 
dress on this occasion. Perhaps I would not have 
thought so much of my suit, had it not been a little 
tight for me. The fellows who were in the habit of 
hiring this suit could not have been in my class, — but, 
to go back to the wedding party, about two o’clock 
the guests commenced to leave, and in a half hour 
there was no one left but myself, so I took myself off 
also. 


234 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


I don’t know much about astronomy, neither do I 
know which is my guiding star, but I have often 
thought I must have been born in the new of the 
moon, for there seems to be something new happen- 
ing every turn I take. I had not gone more than four 
blocks, when I heard cries of ^'Police ! Murder ! Rob- 
bers!” and looking down a side street, from whence 
the sounds proceeded, I saw two men pounding 
and kicking another one. It did not take me a second 
to tell what to do, and only a minute to do it. I 
jumped in among them and struck out right and 
left, but they were no spring chickens, either, as I 
soon found out. If it had not been that the man 
whom they were pounding got on his feet and used 
his cane on one of them, I might not have come off 
so well, but fortune and the old man favored me, and 
we soon had them on the run. When I got my com- 
panion out into the light of a street lamp, I found that 
he was an old man and that he had been very roughly 
handled ; in fact, so much so that when he found he 
was safe, he became unconscious. I called a police- 
man and he rang for the ambulance, and we took the 
old man to a hospital. The attendants soon had him 
back to consciousness, which happened to be a lucky 
thing for me, for the policeman had just told me that 
he guessed I was the cause of the old man’s trouble 
and that he was going to lock me up. When the old 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


235 


man came to himself, however, he overheard some of 
the policeman’s talk to me, and the look of contempt 
he gave the policeman was worthy of the study of an 
artist. He reached out his hand, and slowly and de- 
liberately said : “That young man saved my life,” and 
then he added: “I want him to stay with me until 
morning.” Morning was very near at hand and I 
stayed. The old man took me by the hand and went 
to sleep, and for two hours he hardly moved. At the 
end of that time he woke up quite refreshed. He 
then looked over his clothes and found that the rob- 
bers had secured what little money he had with him. 
T let the old man have two dollars, and after he had 
taken my name and address, I left him. 

I am learning something every day, and sometimes 
I pick up a little information at night. For instance, 
the night of which I am talking taught me that a tight- 
fitting dress suit is not the best thing in the world to 
fight in. After I got ready to leave the hospital I 
found that my coat was split from the claw hammer 
tails to the collar, and that the trousers, most likely 
not wishing to be odd in the matter, had followed the 
lead of the coat, and — well, to say the least, I was a 
sorry looking sight. Even the old man smiled when 
he got a good view of my dilapidated condition. It 
took quite a little of my spare money to fix up with 
the tailor from whom I hired the suit, so Dan’s wed- 


236 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


ding was not altogether a good thing for me finan- 
cially. The old man I saved from the hold-up men, 
Mr. Chace, must have been more scared than hurt, 
for he was around to see me a couple of days after I 
saw him at the hospital. He paid me the two dollars 
I loaned him and wanted to buy me a new suit of 
clothes. This I would not let him do, as I explained 
to him that they were a suit hired for the occasion, 
and that it had only cost me fifteen dollars to square 
myself with the tailor. I had to tell him all about the 
wedding and Dan and almost everything else I knew. 
Then he walked out, and although I liked the old man, 
I was glad to get rid of him, as I had some work to 
do. About an hour afterwards he came back again, 
and handed me two gold pieces, a ten and a five, and 
walked out before I could ask him what it meant. Of 
course, I knew what it was for; at the same time I 
was rather taken aback about the whole thing. 

Dan^s wedding trip was short, and he was soon back 
on duty. I have to look twice at him now to realize it 
is the same old Dan that I knew in the old days, he is 
so bright and interesting. Both he and his wife in- 
sisted that I should go to board at their house, and so 
I was installed there in a very nice room. 

One morning Mr. Bowen called me into his private 
office, and, asking me to be seated, commenced by 
saying: ‘‘Tom, do you like this business?’’ 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 237 

*'No, Mr. Bowen, I must say that I am not very 
much in love with it, but I never would have told you 
if you had not asked me, and I try to do the best I 
can.’’ 

‘T know you do, and I think I know why you don’t 
like it, but I want you to tell me.” 

‘T think it is because it shows me the wrong side 
of life. I feel at times that all women are bad and all 
men are vile. If I stop to think, I know this is not 
so, but it is the side of life I see, and it weighs so 
heavily on me that I cannot shake it off.” 

“You are right, Tom. You are easily impressed 
by your surroundings. Your heart is in the right 
place, but it runs away with your head. I saw a man 
giving you a hard-luck story yesterday, and saw you 
give him a quarter, and you thought you had given 
an honest unfortunate the price of a meal. I followed 
the man to a cheap joint near by and saw him lose 
that quarter shooting craps. That man is a common 
hobo, and he couldn’t have gotten a nickel out of Dan 
with a jimmy. You are so anxious to find people who 
are honest, that you believe them if they tell you so 
without looking for proof.” 

“I guess you are right, Mr. Bowen. I am no good.” 

“Oh, yes, you are, Tom, but you forget that we are 
working among the criminal class and the unfor- 
tunate, and you forget the fact that the class we have 


238 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


the most to do with is a very small portion of the peo- 
ple ; and then when anyone gives you a fill for the sake 
of bleeding you, you are so anxious to know of some 
good that you catch at the straw and get the worst of 
it. From the standpoint of this office no one but a 
fool would get married, for we see more of the trials 
of married life than of anything else, and yet the 
greater part of the people who are married are better 
off than they would be single and are much happier.’’ 

“I am glad to hear you say so, Mr. Bowen.” 

“Why, Tom, are you thinking of getting married?” 

“No, but I expect that the girl whom I wanted to 
marry may be by this time the wife of another, and I 
should feel better if I knew she was quite happy.” 

“But how about yourself?” 

“Oh, I shall never marry. I set my heart on one 
girl, but the other fellow had money and a profession, 
and feeling that the girl was inclined towards him, I 
got out and gave him a clear field.” 

“I cannot understand why you gave up so easily.” 

“Well, perhaps I have not told it just as it was. 
You see I felt that my chances would be better if I 
had money, and I started out to get rich. I was go- 
ing to Alaska to the gold fields, but that bubble burst, 
and I don’t see anything ahead for me, and partic- 
ularly so if you are going to let me out.” 

“I may let you out, Tom, but if I do, it will be for 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 239 

your own good. No man can make a success of a 
business that he does not like, and you do not like 
detective work. I did not think of letting you out 
until I had found you something better, and the bet- 
ter thing has come after you.” 

''You talk in riddles, Mr. Bowen. What do you 
mean ?” 

"There is a gentleman who comes here to see you 
every few days who has taken a great liking to you; 
in fact, he says you saved his life, and he wants to do 
something for you.” 

"You mean Mr. Chace, of course, as he is the only 
man who comes to see me, but I do not see what he 
can do for me ; neither do I consider that he owes me 
anything. I guess I did save his life as the thing 
turned out, but I would have done it for anyone else 
just as soon.” 

"Yes, but the fact remains that you did do it for 
him, and the fact also remains that Mr. Chace is a 
very rich man, and you had best do exactly as he 
wants you to.” 

"Mr. Chace rich ! Why, he did not give me to 
understand that he had money.” 

"That was a little game of his own thinking up. He 
found out first that you liked him for himself, and 
now he is willing to let you know that he is a very 
rich man and can help you. So, Tom, I guess I will 


240 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


be obliged to discharge you for the fear you will de- 
cline to work for Mr. Chace on account of your posi- 
tion with me.” 

Before I could get over my surprise at the turn 
affairs had taken, Mr. Chace walked into the office, 
and I noticed that he was not as old a man as I 
thought, and that he had an air of refinement about 
him that I had given no particular attention to be- 
fore. 

Mr. Bowen spoke first, saying: '‘There is your 
man, Mr. Chace. I have just discharged him for in- 
competency.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he 
said it, and Mr. Chace said : “So you are coming to 
work for me, are you, Tom ?” 

“I will work for you, Mr. Chace, if I can do the 
work required of me, and if I can earn the salary you 
are willing to pay me, and only on those conditions, 
for although Mr. Bowen has discharged me, I will 
never be considered an object of charity. I am young 
and strong, and with my little acquaintance in this 
city, I am sure I can secure work at something that 
I can do, and where I can earn the money I receive.” 

“Well spoken, Tom,” said Mr. Chace, “but this case 
is not as one-sided as you may think, for I need a 
young man badly, and I will see that you do not get a 
cent more than you earn, and I also assure you that 
you can do the work.” 





242 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


“Very well/' said I, “I accept the position. When 
shall I commence work?” 

“You can commence at once, Tom. Come with 
me. 

We left Mr. Bowen’s office and went to the hotel 
where Mr, Chace boards, and I was at once installed 
as his private secretary. The next day Mr. Chace 
took me over to his tailor’s and I was measured for 
two suits of clothes. I don’t know what the price of 
them is to be or who is supposed to pay for them; 
neither do I know how much salary I am to receive, 
but I am boarding at the same hotel with Mr. Chace, 
have ?L fine room, and Mr. Chace seems very well 
pleased with my work, and I am sure I am pleased 
with him, for he is kindness itself. 

I met Dan last night. He says he is as happy as a 
lord, and has the only job that he is fitted for. I asked 
him if he remembered one evening only a few weeks 
ago when he wanted to swat the policeman for luck, 
and was envious of a nigger who had a job as head 
waiter. Dan looked sort of cross-eyed at me, and said 
that I should not remind him of his former meanness. 

I have a surprise for you, but as I have not just 
fathomed it myself, will let it wait for my next letter. 


LETTER NUMBER TWENTY-SEVEN. 


San Francisco, California. , 
After I had finished my last letter I had occasion to 
add a little to it, telling you I had a surprise for you 
for my next letter. I don’t think I realized what I 
wrote at the time or the importance, to me, of the dis- 
covery I had made; neither do I understand how I 
managed to get the letter mailed. I have acquired a 
habit of looking over the hotel register every day, and 
if anyone had ever asked me why I did it, I could not 
have told them. I expect it is because I am so far 
away from home, and long at times to see a familiar 
face or read a name I have been acquainted with back 
in my native state. Whatever my ideas were on the 
subject, I was at last rewarded by reading a name that 
looked and sounded familiar, but it gave me some- 
thing of a ''jar,” as Dan would say. There it was, 
though, as plain as plain could be: "Clay Sterling 
and wife, Chicago.” Of course, there could be but 
one Clay Sterling, and if there had been a dozen, this 
was the Clay Sterling whom I knew, for I recognized 
his handwriting; and of course there could be but 
one wife for Clay Sterling, and that could be no other 
than Betty Dean. I pointed to the name and asked 


244 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


the clerk where they were, and was told that they 
were in their room. It was too late to think of calling 
on them, even if I had the courage, which I did not; 
so I wrote the little postscript to my last letter, and 
then wondered what I would do. It was a cool night 
and already past eleven o’clock, but I felt that I must 
go somewhere and get more air than I could get in the 
hotel, so I started out for a walk. By the time I got 
out to the sidewalk I was walking like a mad man, and 
as luck would have it, ran square into Mr. Chace, 
who was returning from a visit to his club. 

^'Why, Tom,” said he, ^ Vhat is the matter with you ? 
You look as though you had seen a ghost.” 

“Worse than that, Mr. Chace ; I have seen all of my 
hopes blasted, and I think the best thing I can do is to 
go down to the dock and jump in.” 

Mr. Chace took me by the arm and led me back to 
the hotel and up to my room. Then he made me sit 
down and tell him the whole story. 

“Well,” said he, after I had finished, “the case looks 
pretty bad, but it seems to me that you have yourself 
to blame for it partly, although I would not take it to* 
heart so much if she would so soon marry another.” 

“But, Mr. Chace,” said I, “you do not know Betty 
Dean. She has the sweetest disposition and the most 
winning ways that woman ever had. I know there is 
nothing about me to love, and I do not blame her, not 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 245 

in the least, for Clay Sterling is a fine fellow, is rich, 
and is building up a name for himself in his profes- 
sion. No, I will never blame her, but it is tough on 
'yours truly’ just the same.” 

"Now, Tom, don’t decry yourself; there are hun- 
dreds of girls who are fully Miss Dean’s equals who 
would jump at the chance to marry you. You must 
not forget the old saying. There are as good fish in 
the sea as ever yet were caught.’ All you have to do 
is to fish a little and you can take your pick. You see, 
Tom, I know what I am talking about. I know lots 
of good qualities that you have, and I have studied 
you as no girl seems to have done, for if they had, 
they would love you as I do.” 

"You love me, Mr. Chace. I don’t understand 
you.” 

"That is because you don’t understand yourself, 
Tom. In the first place you saved my life. When 
you thought I was a poor man, and not knowing 
whether you would ever see me again, you loaned me 
all the money you could spare. Dan and Mr. Bowen 
have told me all they knew about you, and as far as 
they know, there is not a black mark against you, nor 
a dishonest hair in your head. Don’t worry about a 
girl who did not appreciate your true worth. Just 
go right ahead and prove to her that she was mis- 
taken in you, and I will help you do it.” 


246 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


'Thank you, Mr. Chace, I will do the best I can, 
but do you think I am childish in thinking so much 
of a woman 

"No, Tom, by no means; I like you all the better 
for it. It shows that your heart is in the right place, 
and I feel that when you get over this little episode 
you will be a better man for the trials you have 
weathered. After that you will find some girl who is 
worthy of you ; then you will get married, and we will 
go to keeping house together.” 

I looked at Mr. Chace to see if he meant what he 
said, and I knew he was in earnest, for he looked so 
anxious, — as though he wished he could smooth 
things out for me. I made up my mind then and 
there that I would be governed by him as far as pos- 
sible, and told him so. 

"All right, Tom; you say you will be governed by 
me. What you must do is this: Go to bed and try 
to sleep. To-morrow when you get up fix yourself up 
the best you know how and go down where you can 
watch the dining-room door, and intercept them 
when they go in; congratulate them both; ask them 
how long they are going to be in the city, and if they 
are going to stay long enpugh, tell them you would 
be pleased to take them out to drive. If they accept, 
you can go to the stable where I get my horses and 
get the best team you can. Have a driver or do the 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


247 


driving yourself. If they should so far forget them- 
selves as to ask about your business, you can tell them 
that you are not doing much of anything just at pres- 
ent, but enjoy yourself.” 

I promised to follow the directions as nearly as 
possible, and at once retired, but not to sleep. I lay 
there and tried to remember every word Betty ever 
said to me, and I am sure I recalled the most of them. 
Just before time to get up I dropped off to sleep, and 
when Mr. Chace came in and spoke to me, I was 
ashamed to have him ask me if I had not overslept. I 
dressed as quickly as possible, for I realized that I 
was late. I found out by the clerk that Mr. and Mrs. 
Sterling had just gone into the dining-room to break- 
fast. 

''Now,” thought I, "here is the time to show what 
a brave man you are, Tom,” and looking about the 
dining-room until my eye rested on Clay and his wife, 
I called the head waiter and asked him to seat me at 
the same table. I had it done as though it were by 
chance, and did not look at them until I was seated. 
I did not have the courage to look at Betty, but I was 
sitting exactly opposite Clay, and I raised my eyes 
slowly to his. He spoke before I had a good look at 
him. 

"For all the world, if here isn’t Tom Clingstone !” 
and the next instant my hand was grasped by Clay 


248 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


with a grasp which proved to me that he was glad to 
see me. 

‘Tom, old boy, how are you? But’’ (to his wife), 
“excuse me, sweetheart. Let rne introduce you to 
the man whom I have so often talked to you about. 
Mr. Tom Clingstone, my wife.” 

I was dazed. Why was he introducing me to her ? 
Was it sarcasm? 

“I am glad to know you,” said a strange sweet 
voice, and then the truth dawned on me. It was not 
Betty after all. What could it all mean? For a mo- 
ment I felt mad with Clay because he had dared to 
think someone else was sweeter or nicer than Betty 
Dean. I shall never know how I got through the 
next half hour. With the best generalship I could 
muster, I asked when he had seen the Deans, and 
found out that he had seen them shortly before he 
was married. Miss Betty was invited to the wedding, 
but did not attend, sending her regrets at the last 
moment. Clay said that Betty was wedded to her 
literary work, and that she was devoting the most of 
her time to it. 

I found that Mr. and Mrs. Sterling were to leave 
at once for Los Angeles, and after informing them 
that the hotel we were in was my home and most 
likely would be for some time, I excused myself and 
left the dining-room. In the rotunda of the hotel I 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 249 

found Mr. Chace waiting for me. He was looking 
anxious, but brightened up when he saw me. He 
took me by the hand and said : '‘You seem to have 
lived through it all right, Tom.’’ 

“Lived through it !” said I “Why, the chump never 
married Betty after all.” 

With this Mr. Chace burst out laughing, and 
laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. 

“And so you did not get a chance to make a martyr 
of yourself after all, Tom; and I really think you are 
mad because he slighted your Betty.” 

Well, perhaps I was a little hurt that Clay slighted 
her, but you bet I was better satisfied the way it was 
after I had time to cool off and realize how the con- 
ditions were. For the next few evenings Mr. Chace 
and I talked over the best way to straighten out the 
snarl, but we could come to no decision, and at the 
end of the fifth day I received a letter from Betty 
Dean, which read as follows: 

“My dear Tom : We just received a telegram from 
Clay Sterling, giving us your address, and mama in- 
sisted that I write you at once, for she is sure that 
you must have written to us and that the letter has 
been lost in the mails. You know, Tom, that we owe 
you an everlasting debt of gratitude which we never 
can forget. Papa speaks of you often, and wonders 
why you left so suddenly and the way you did, and I 


250 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


have seen tears come into mama’s eyes as she has 
talked of you and wondered if your clothes did not 
need looking after or if you were sick and needed 
anything. I never see Auntie McLoud that she does 
not ask if we have heard from you, and the last time 
I saw her she said she guessed you did not realize 
what good friends you had here in Coldeck. I know 
she will write to you as soon as I tell her where you 
are. Papa says so many nice things about you, par- 
ticularly about your bookkeeping and the care you 
took of the yard. He has hired a man in your place, 
but papa says he does not take the interest in the 
business that you did. You must write to us and tell 
us what you are doing. Tell us all about yourself and 
how you like San Francisco and why you did not go 
to Nome. I stepped into papa’s office one day last 
week, and that blacksmith friend of yours was asking 
papa about you. He seemed very much interested 
to know if we had heard from you and if you were 
coming back here again. I don’t suppose Coldeck 
would look like much of a place to you now that you 
have lived in San Francisco, but papa says you must 
not forget that you have friends here who would like 
to see you. 

'T have read this letter over to mama, and she says 
that I have told you nothing of myself and that you 
would want to hear something of me. I think she is 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


251 


mistaken, for if you had cared to have heard from me 
you would certainly have let us know where you were. 
As mama says I must write something of myself, I 
will do so ; and as we usually write or talk of what is 
uppermost in ©ur minds at the time, I will tell you of 
my new dress just home from Madame Bevet’s, of 
Omaha. I wish you could see it, Tom. It is a dream, 
and fits me perfectly, except that the left arm~syce is 
a little tight, and that can be easily fixed. The ma- 
terial is Roseda green Venetian cloth and panne vel- 
vet. Of course, you will want to know how it is made. 
It has the cutest little bolero jacket of the panne. 
Don’t you like bolero’s ? They are so fashionable this 
winter. The waist to wear under the jacket is finely 
tucked mousseline de soie, and is slightly bloused 
over one of the new belts, which really should be 
called girdles. The bolero has a narrow finish of 
Renaissance lace, and the crush collar of panne has a 
jabot of the same lace. The skirt hangs perfectly. It 
is made with five gores, with three long plaits on each 
side, finished with pipings of the panne. The peau de 
soie drop skirt is a light shade of Roseda. 

'T think this will do for this time, Tom, but if you 
will write to papa, I am quite sure he will answer your 
letter, and no doubt can write you something more 
interesting than I can, although I am sure you will 
be interested in my dress. Mr. Gregory called this 


252 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


afternoon when I had it on, and he said it was jus 
stunning. Very truly your friend and well-wisher 
Betty Dean.” 

When I first opened this letter and found it was a 
long one, signed by Betty, I was half crazed with de- 
light, but after I had waded through the whole thing 
I was ready to go to the asylum, and there was no 
delight in it. I think I must have sat for an hour 
without moving a muscle, and might have sat there 
until this time had not Mr. Chace come into my room 
to see what I was doing. In answer to his question of 
what ailed me, I handed him the letter. He read it 
over carefully twice, and then said : ‘That is a stun- 
ning dress she has, Tom.” 

“Yes, that is what Gregory says.” 

“Who is Gregory?” 

“Hanged if I know. I never heard of him before. 
What do you suppose he is calling there in the after- 
noon for?” 

“I am sure I don’t know, my boy. Is Gregory the 
only thing you saw in the letter ?” 

“Well, that stood out most prominently.” 

“That is a fine description of a dress. Reads like 
the description of a bride’s trousseau.” 

“Oh, don’t, Mr. Chace. The description of that 
dress drives me crazy, and especially what Gregory 
says about it.” 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


253 


‘^Do you think you would know that dress if you 
should see it, Tom?” 

“Well, I should say not. My only idea of it is that 
it cuts her a little under one arm, and is made of some 
kind of Venetian stuff, and the only Venetian stuff 
that I know anything about is something they make 
inside blinds of, and it is usually painted green. The 
bolero jacket I suppose is some sort of a Spanish 
fandangle, but I cannot just understand it, for bolero 
in Spanish means ‘dancing girl.’ The rest of it is as 
clear as mud, and I give it up.” 

“Tom, did you . ever hear of reading a letter be- 
tween the lines?” 

“Why, didn’t I read it all?” 

“No, I don’t think you read half there was in that 
letter.” 

I took the letter and read it over again very care- 
fully. Then I looked between the lines and at every 
blank space on the paper to see if some other words 
would not appear, but I could see nothing. I handed 
the letter back to Mr. Chace and asked him to read 
what he saw between the lines, as I realized that he 
thought he saw a hidden meaning to the letter. Mr. 
Chace looked the letter over again, and then said : 

“Well, Tom, I am not so sure about the writing 
between the lines. At first I thought the girl loved 
you and was trying to cover it up, but that may not be 


254 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


the case, and I would dislike very much to raise your 
hopes only to have them dashed again at some future 
time. You are broken up enough now. You were 
much more of a man before you met Clay Sterling. 
Your meeting with him has stirred up an old love 
story that perhaps might as well have been forgot- 
ten.” 

''Don’t you believe in love, Mr. Chace ?” 

"Of course I do, Tom. It is a disease that all men 
and almost all women catch some time in their lives 
after they have gotten well over their children dis- 
eases. Some are cured by getting married; others 
get worse, in fact never get over it as long as the 
object of their affection lives; and there have been 
cases known where love outlived the death of the ob- 
ject and was at last buried with the individual.” 

"That is the kind I have, Mr. Chace.” 

"That is what everyone thinks when they have a 
bad case, but I have seen lots of them, who thought 
so, have a dozen attacks of the disease in as many 
months, with a different object every time.” 

"How about yourself, Mr. Chace ?” 

"Oh, as for me, I am an immune. I had the dis- 
ease twice bad, and now at the age of sixty I can 
safely say I am beyond danger. But it is different 
with you, Tom. You are so constituted that you are 
sure to have it bad, and the sooner you get married 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


2SS 


and settled down, the better it will be for all con- 
cerned/’ 

^‘Then do you think I should write to Betty and 
propose to her again?’' 

“Propose to her, you goose ! No ; write and tell her 
how your last trousers were made, and tell her that 
Miss Marthy Crocker thinks the coat you are wear- 
ing now is out of sight.” 

“Who is Marthy Crocker?” 

“She is a cousin to Mr. Gregory. Tom, does a 
house have to fall on you before you wake up? You 
go and answer that letter now, and give her as good 
as she sent.” 

With this Mr. Chace left me, and I started in to an- 
swer Miss Betty’s letter. I wrote all of a dozen let- 
ters and tore them all up. In the first I wrote I 
started off by telling her how much I loved her and 
that I could not live without her. Then I wrote an- 
other, explaining why I left Coldeck as I did, telling 
her it was all on her account and that I had intended 
to come back for her as soon as I had money enough. 
I wrote another, in which I said nothing about her, 
and only spoke of the different people in the town 
whom I knew would be interested in hearing of me. 
I wrote another asking a lot of questions about the 
little McLoud girl whom I saved from drowning. I 
wrote another giving a good description of San Fran- 


S56 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


cisco and the Golden Gate. I wrote several others 
and tore them all up before I finally wrote one which 
suited me. Here is a cop.y of the one I sent : 

“My dear Miss Betty: Who in the deuce is 
Gregory? Your friend and well-wisher, Tom Cling- 
stone.” 


LETTER NUMBER TWENTY-EIGHT. 


San Francisco, California. 

The next morning after writing the letter to Betty 
which I told you about in my last communication, 
the first thing Mr. Chace asked me was what I had 
written. I did not want to tell him at first, but he 
finally wormed it out of me, and after I told him he 
laughed a little and said he guessed I had a pretty 
bad case. 

I have often heard that truth is stranger than fic- 
tion, but I never realized it so much until I had some 
peculiar truths drop at my door. One evening as I 
was walking down Sutter street, I ran across a hard 
looking specimen of a man who had gotten into 
trouble with some young men. Fie had run against 
them by accident and they were inclined to make 
trouble for him. I saw the whole affair and went to 
the man’s assistance. The young fellows then turned 
on me, but they reckoned too much on their own 
ability and not enough on my training. It was just 
fun for me to lay those young scamps out right and 
left, and the funny part of it was that a couple of 
policemen stood and saw the whole thing without 


258 


TOM CLINGSTONE^S LETTERS. 


making a move. After I had the hoodlums lying all 
around the sidewalk, the policemen came up and the 
young scamps scattered in double quick time. Then 
I found why the police had not interfered before : One 
of them was my old friend Doyle, and when he saw 
who it was he said he knew that I must be in the 
right and he wanted to see the fun, he feeling sure 
I was fully able to take care of myself. 

I took the man who caused the trouble to be an 
old tramp, but I did not think so much of helping him 
out of a scrape as I did of having a little fun myself. 
When the tramp heard the policeman call me by 
name, he came up and looked in my face, and said: 
‘This isn’t my nephew, Tom Clingstone, of Hardacre 
Corners, is it?” The policemen laughed, and Doyle 
said that perhaps I had found a long lost brother. 
Said I : 

‘T don’t know anything about being your nephew, 
but I am Tom Clingstone, of Hardacre Corners, and 
my father and mother live there yet.” 

“Yes, yes,” said the old man, “I know. I am your 
father’s older brother. Thomas, when I left Hard- 
acre eighteen years ago you were only a little tot 
about three or four years old. You were named after 
me. I have been a wanderer on the face of the earth 
ever since, and no doubt should still keep wandering 
if I were able, but I am sick, Tom. I have been in 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


259 


Alaska the past four years, and the climate got the 
best of me. Sometimes I think I will pull through 
all right, and then again I feel that I haven’t long to 
live.” 

“That’s all right, Uncle Tom. But why stand here 
in the cold? Why don’t you go to your home? I 
will go with you and see that you don’t get into any 
more trouble.” 

“But, Tom, suppose I tell you that I have no home 
or no place to sleep but the police station ?” 

“Oh, well, if that is the case, come with me. A 
Clingstone and an uncle of mine cannot sleep in the 
police station if I can help it.” And I put him in a 
cab and took him at once to Dan Hornbeam’s house, 
where I hired a room with a bath for him and gave 
Mrs. Hornbeam directions to make him as comfort- 
able as possible. I wanted to call a doctor to see him, 
but he said he did not need one; and that no doctor 
could help him. He said he had consumption and 
could not live long, but he preferred to take his time 
to die and did not care to be helped off by a doctor. 

I used to go up to see the old man every day. He 
seemed to enjoy having me come, and as he had been 
pretty well over the world, he was a very interesting 
talker. He seemed to be getting along quite well and 
I was thinking that he would soon be all right again, 
but it seems the old man knew his condition better 


260 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


than I did. One morning about three o’clock Dan 
came for me. The old man had been taken with a 
bad spell and wanted to see me at once. When I got 
there the doctor was with him and he was a little 
easier. As I came into the room his face brightened, 
and taking my hand in his, he said : ‘Wou are a good 
boy, Tom. I am glad I found you in time. I will 
soon be gone, but you will not lose anything by your 
kindness to your homeless old tramp, uncle.” I tried 
^ to brace him up and tell him that he was worth a whole 
regiment of dead men yet, but it was of no use, and 
just as the day commenced to break, he passed away. 

We had the funeral the next day, and after it was 
over I thought how glad I was that I had been able 
to make his last few days a little pleasant. I went back 
to the house with Dan and his wife, and Mrs. Horn- 
beam handed me a bundle of papers which she said my 
uncle had given her to be handed to me after the 
funeral. I opened them with a great deal of curiosity. 
The first I came to was a letter from my uncle ad- 
dressed to me, which read as follows: 

“My dear nephew : When you read these few lines 
I shall have passed from your sight, but I trust I may 
never pass altogether out of your mind. When I met 
you first in this town, I was intending to go East and 
hunt up your father. Possibly I would not have 
thought of going had I not felt that the hand of Death 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 261 

was on me, but although I have been a wanderer for 
years and have only seen the rough side of the world, 
I felt that I wanted to die among friends. Meeting 
you and having you do as you did by me, and know- 
ing you did it without the thought of ever receiving a 
cent for your kindness, was a satisfaction to me that I 
cannot find words to express. I have two things to 
give you, my dear nephew : The first is a piece of ad- 
vice, which is : Don’t get so bound up in money get- 
ting that you will run a chance of dying without 
friends ; and my other gift is the little steamer trunk 
and its contents that you will find under the bed on 
which I die. I leave it to you, knowing that a young 
man with as good a heart as you have proved you 
have cannot misuse anything. You will find my will 
in this same bunch of papers that Mrs. Hornbeam is 
to hand you, which only amounts to the legalizing 
of this letter. Good-by, my dear nephew. May your 
life be as bright and happy as you deserve. Your 
affectionate uncle, Thomas Clingstone.” 

In this same bundle of papers was the will spoken 
of, some other personal papers and the key to the 
trunk. Dan said my uncle went out and got the trunk 
the day after I brought him to the house, and that he 
had meant to have spoken to me about it, but had 
forgotten to do so. The greatest surprise was yet to 
come, for when we opened the trunk we found it to 


262 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


contain over two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars 
in cash and certified checks. Mr. Chace counted it 
and said it was hardly necessary that my uncle should 
have made a will, especially as he had taken pains to 
indorse the checks all over to me. They all con- 
gratulated me on my good fortune, but I guess I did 
not realize what I had fallen into at first, for I was 
only wondering if I could not have done more for the 
man who had done so much for me. Mr. Chace and I 
took the trunk to the hotel and put the money in a 
safe place, and that evening we sat down in his room 
to talk the events of the day over. 

'‘Well, Tom,” said Mr. Chace, 'T suppose you will 
want to resign from my employ now that you have a 
fortune of your own.” 

"Perhaps not, Mr. Chace. I may decline to accept 
a salary from you now that I have enough of my own, 
but you have seemed more to me like a friend than 
an employer, and I feel that I need you as much as you 
can possibly need me.” 

"Well spoken, my boy. I am glad to hear you talk 
that way. We can work together and be of assist- 
ance to each other. But tell me, what have you in 
mind to do ?” 

"My strong desire just at present is to write to 
Betty Dean and tell her that I am rich and ask her 
if she will listen to me now.” 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


263 


“Tom, you do need me more now than ever to hold 
you in check, and you shall write no such letter to 
Miss Betty if I can prevent it. She must not know 
anything of this, but after we get matters fixed up 
here so we can leave, we will both go East and see 
what can be done.’’ 

“And will you go with me, Mr. Chace 

“Of course I will, Tom, if you will be governed by 
what I say; for you have made me feel young again, 
and I am as much interested in your love affair as 
you are.’’ 

The next day after I had this talk with Mr. Chace 
I received another letter from Betty. It came in the 
morning — a nice fat letter, and as soon as I got it into 
my hands I rushed upstairs to my own room to read 
it where I would be entirely alone. I never saw a 
plumper letter, and a letter was never opened 
by a more anxious man. I cut off the end of the 
envelope with the scissors and drew out the precious 
bunch of paper that Betty had placed there with her 
own hand. It was folded queerly for a letter, and 
the thought occurred to me that the dear girl had 
sent me her picture. I took off one wrapping after 
another until I came to a handsome sheet of per- 
fumed note paper, on which was written: 

“My Dear Tom : He is our new minister, and he 
is just too lovely for anything. Your friend and well- 
wisher, Betty Dean.” 


264 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


It was as much as ten minutes before I got it 
through my thick head what it all meant, and then I 
realized that it was simply an answer to my letter of 
eight days before. She had lost no time in answer- 
ing it, and as she had written the same kind of a 
letter to me that I had to her, I certainly had no fault 
to find ; at the same time the letter did not make me 
feel very good. I took it in to Mr. Chace’s room and 
handed it to him. He read it over, laughed, and said 
‘Tom, that girl is well worth having. I don’t blame 
you for being in love with her.” 

“And still do you insist that I must not write and 
tell her that I am well able to take care of her ?” 

“Of course I do, Tom. If I read that girl right, 
you could never catch her with money for a bait. 
Now, promise me that you will not send any more 
letters to her without letting me see them. You 
may be able to take care of your money, and I think 
you are, but you certainly need a guardian when it 
comes to your affairs of the heart. Do you promise ?’ 

I promised to do as he said in the matter, and he 
seemed quite relieved. 

There were several other letters for me in the mail 
that same morning, and after reading them I handed 
them all over to Mr. Chace. He said he learned more 
about me by those letters than I had ever told him, 
and he seemed very much pleased by what he found 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


265 


out. There was a letter from Mr. Dean in which he 
reminded me that he had three hundred dollars that 
belonged to me, and which he was ready to send to 
me any time I should send for it. He also wrote 
that when I got tired of wandering around the coun- 
try I could have my position back at his office. Mrs. 
Dean had written a short note, in which she said she 
missed me very much, and that I must not forget I 
had a home to come to if I ever wanted it. There 
was a letter from Mrs. McLoud, in which she thanked 
me again for rescuing her child from a watery grave; 
and one from my mother asking me if I did not think 
I had sowed enough wild oats to come home now 
and go to work with my father as I ought to. 

After Mr. Chace had read them all over, he said: 
“Your own folks seem to appreciate you the least of 
anyone.” 

“Perhaps they know me better.” 

“No, that is not so, Tom, for I feel that I know 
you better than they do, and I have only known you 
a few weeks. Yours is not an isolated case. There 
are many parents who do not understand their own 
children, and they often stand in the way of the de- 
velopment of them. It is possible that these cases 
are the exceptions, but we often find them. Many 
a boy is turned into the ministry because his mother 
decided that there should be one preacher in the fam- 


266 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


ily, and the only result is the spoiling of the making 
of a good cow puncher. These letters from people 
who were willing to take you as they found you and 
give you credit for what you have done are worth 
much in the eyes of the world, and will far overbal- 
ance anything that can be said about you by people 
who do not know you, or knowing you, will not 
understand you. There is no letter here from your 
father, Tom. Why is it he does not write to you?” 

“Because my father understands me better than my 
mother does, and I have only lately found that out. 
I used to think he was hard toward me because he 
did not understand me, but in his early days he was 
a sailor and he learned by experience that it takes 
the knocks which only the outside world can give 
to put sense into the average boy.” 

“Perhaps you are right, my boy, in your estimate 
of him. At all events, your knocking about seems 
to have done you good.” 

We have decided to go East as soon as we can get 
ready, and I am anxious to go, for I realize that 
although I may not be able to catch my heart’s desire 
with a money bait, I shall care but little for the 
money if I cannot induce her to share it with me. 

We spent one evening at the home of Mr. and Mrs. 
Hornbeam this week, and I never saw such a change 
in anyone as there has been in Dan ; and no one can 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


267 


ever make me believe again that a man who has been 
wild and even laid himself liable to the law cannot 
be reclaimed, and I am glad for Dan^s peace of mind 
that he decided to quit his evil ways before he again 
found his sweetheart. Dan pretended to be surprised 
that I should come to see him after I had come into 
so much money, but I have learned that money is 
worth only what it can buy, and that sometimes a 
kind act will purchase more real pleasure than can 
be bought with a fortune in gold and silver. Dan 
has made quite a success as a detective, and Mr. 
Bowen is very proud of him. Dan wants his wife 
to give up keeping boarders. He says it makes him 
feel cheap to have his wife work, but Mrs. Hornbeam 
takes a long look into the future and says that as 
long as Dan is in such risky business she shall con- 
tinue as she is, and will only retire from her work 
when Dan can do the same. 

On Market street the other day I was surprised to 
meet James Henry Burdette. He is the first person 
whom I have seen from my native town since I left 
there about sixteen months ago. James did not 
know me at first, but as soon as he found out who 
I was he seemed very glad to see me. He told me a 
whole lot about the people at Hardacre Corners; 
said Mother always stopped him on the street to talk 
to him of me, and could never talk long without crying. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


^63 

"'But your father/' continued James Henry, “doesn't 
have a word to say. I was in to see him several 
times on business, and as he never spoke of you, I 
thought I would draw him out, so I asked him where 
you were and what you were doing. I never knew 
the old deacon to be so short with his answers, and 
I made up my mind that he had lost faith in you." 

I listened to James Henry with much interest, but 
I did not have the same idea of the case that he did. 
I found that James Henry had come out to San Fran- 
cisco expecting to get a fine position, but had been 
disappointed. He also told me that he could get 
control of the Hardacre paper if he were back there 
now — a thing he had only just found out, but that 
he was broke, and was expecting to get a minor posi- 
tion here soon. I knew James Henry was honest 
and had for a long time supported his mother and 
sister, and I made up my mind that I would help him 
and use him at the same time; so I said to him: 
“Why don’t you borrow the money to get home with 
and go at once and get hold of the paper instead of 
looking for a place here?" 

“Well, Tom, I am surprised at your asking me a 
question of that kind, after kicking around the world 
as much as you have. It is true I own the little 
place where we live in Hardacre, but no one would 
loan me money on that here. I simply chased a 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


^69 

shadow out here and got left, and must take the 
consequences of it.” 

'^DonT be so sure you cannot borrow the money, 
James. If you will do me a favor, I will get you 
the money.” 

^‘Tell me what it is, and if I can do it, I will.” 
will loan you one-hundred-and-fifty-dollars on 
your personal note, which will be fifty dollars more 
than you will need, if you will go to my father as 
soon as you get there and hand him fifty dollars of 
it and tell him that I loaned you one-hundred-and- 
fifty dollars, but that you did not want to pay interest 
on it any longer than you could help, and ask him to 
give you a receipt for the fifty. You can tell him 
that I said you could pay it to him and stop the in- 
terest, as I was expecting to come East in a short 
time. The other hundred you can pay me when you 
can do it without cramping yourself. Is it a go ?” 

James Henry looked at me in astonishment for a 
moment, and then said : ^T think I see through your 
game, Tom, and it’s a pretty good one to surprise 
the deacon with, and you will be doing a great thing 
for me. I will take the money and carry out your 
instructions to the letter.” 

I invited him up to the hotel to lunch with me, and 
I could see his look of surprise at the way I was 
received and treated by the hotel people. After 


270 


TOM CLINGSTONES LETTERS. 


lunch we went to the bank and I got the money for 
him, and I had a little more enjoyment seeing James 
Henry’s eye roll as he saw me get the money on my 
own check. I went with him when he went to get his 
ticket and saw him on board of the ferry that was to 
take him to Oakland; and as we parted, I said: *^Tell 
all the people in Hardacre Corners that when Tom 
Clingstone lands in that town he will land on both 
feet,” and as I went back to my hotel I laughed as 
I thought of the send-off James Henry would give 
me to the people of Hardacre Corners. 


LETTER NUMBER TWENTY-NINE. 


Hardacre Corners, Illinois. 

After an uneventful trip from San Francisco, Mr. 
Chace and I landed in Coldeck on a cool November 
evening about two weeks ago, and since then events 
have been tumbling over themselves, each event 
seeming to outdo the others. Mr. Chace enters into 
every new feature of my affairs with as much zest as 
though the whole affair were all his own. He says 
this is the first vacation he has had for years, and 
that he is enjoying it to the fullest extent. 

When we arrived here we took the Commercial 
House ’bus to the hotel, and I enjoyed it more than 
any ride I had ever had in San Francisco, for I felt as 
though I had seen adversity in this section of the 
country, and had surmounted all difficulties and con- 
quered all of my foes. After all, I appreciated the 
fact that I had not succeeded in smoothing out all of 
my paths, for the one which led to matrimony was 
for me still far from smooth. I had youth, wealth, 
and good, honest, true friends, but the girl I loved 
with all my heart was yet to be induced to believe 
in me, and Mr. Chace, who had constituted himself 


272 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


my manager, had decided that under no circum- 
stances must I tell her of my good fortune. The 
night we arrived in Coldeck Mr. Chace laid out what 
he called my plan of attack, which I was to follow 
as far as practicable; and this I did, and will record 
the results as I come to them. 

The morning after we arrived at Coldeck, as soon 
as we had breakfasted, I started out to seek my 
fate. Everyone whom I met seemed glad to see me, 
and I felt that, at least, here was one place where I 
was welcome, even though the people did not sus- 
pect that I was worth a cent more than when I left 
them. As soon as I could I got to the yard of my 
former employer, Mr. Dean, and found that gentle- 
man looking over some accounts with his bookkeep- 
er — a thing he was never obliged to do when I kept 
his books. As I stepped in at the door Mr. Dean 
looked up, and seeing me, dropped the books and 
came to meet me. 

^Why, Tom, my dear boy, how are you? I am so 
glad to see you. When did you get in? Have you 
been up to the house?” 

I laughed at his numerous questions, and he 
stopped long enough for me to answer: “I am all 
right, Mr. Dean. I got in last night, and have not 
been to the house yet.” 

"Sit down, Tom, and tell me all about yourself. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 273 

But no, Mrs. Dean would never forgive me if I did 
not take you up to the house at once; so let us 
go right up, and then we can talk ©n the way. What 
have you been doing, Tom? Let me see, it is less 
than three months since you left us, so I don't sup- 
pose you have done a great deal of mining. You 
wrote you were going to Nome," and Mr. Dean 
laughed as though he thought the mention of Nome 
was a good joke. "‘Tell me why you backed out of 
the Nome trip." 

“It was this way, Mr. Dean : I met an old 
acquaintance in Seattle who advised me not to go to 
Nome, and so I gave it up, and instead went with 
him to San Francisco. I have not been idle since 
I went away, and am not sorry that I did not go to 
Alaska." 

After a little more talk, in which I really said but 
little, we reached Mr. Dean's house. We walked into 
the dining-room at once, and found Mrs. Dean. She 
screamed when she saw me, caught me in her arms 
and kissed me. Her screaming brought Miss Betty 
to see what the matter was, and she seemed very 
much surprised to see me. We talked until dinner 
time, Mr. Dean forgetting to go back to his yard 
until it was too late to go before the regular dinner. 
Anyone would have thought I had been gone nearly 
three years instead of only about three months by the 


274 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


reception I received. After dinner Mr. Dean said he 
would be obliged to go back at once to the yard, and 
then he asked me if I did not want the money he 
had of mine. He also took occasion to say that if 
I was ready to come back to work I could have my 
old place again. 

After Mr. Dean had gone to his yard and Mrs. 
Dean was busy with the hired girl in the kitchen, I 
had a little chance to talk with Miss Betty, and you 
can rest assured that I lost no time. 

'T think a good deal of your father and mother. 
Miss Betty, but I am not in the least sorry to be 
alone with you. Do you know why I left here ?” 

“Why, certainly, Tom. You went away to get 
rich, and although you did not go to Nome, I trust 
you got rich just the same.’’ 

“Now, don’t laugh at me, Miss Betty. I have come 
back here on purpose to see you, and I went away 
because I thought there was no chance for me. I 
got it into my head that Clay Sterling was the fa- 
vored one, and I knew I would have no chance 
against him, especially as it seemed to me that you 
had decided in his favor. When I saw Clay in San 
Francisco and found that you were not his bride, I 
was crazy to come to you and try again to win you.” 

“Now that Clay is out of the way, do you imagine 
that the coast is entirely clear?” 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


275 


^Tlease, Miss Betty, do not trifle with me. Who is 
Gregory?’’ This last question was an afterthought, 
as I had been so intent on my mission that I had en- 
tirely forgotten the existence of anyone by the name 
of Gregory. 

‘"Mr. Gregory is a very nice man. I think I told 
you in my letter that he was perfectly lovely.” 

''Yes, I believe you did, but don’t keep me in sus- 
pense. Is he going to marry you?” 

"Well, to tell you the truth, Tom, I don’t know.” 

"You don’t know! By that I suppose you mean 
that he has asked you and you have not decided yet.” 

"You have certainly guessed it pretty near, Tom.” 

"How long have you known him?” 

"About the same length of time that you have had 
the privilege of asking me impertinent questions.” 

"Excuse me. Miss Betty, I did not mean to be 
impertinent, but I am so anxious about my own 
chances.” 

"And do you imagine that your own chances would 
be good if I declined to let him marry me ?” 

"That would be for you to say, but as long as you 
are not married I shall keep on trying.” 

"Then as near as I can see, I will be obliged to 
marry before your mind will be set at rest.” 

"Yes, and if you wish to set my mind entirely at 
rest, you will marry me.” 


276 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


“Oh, Tom, how kind you are to yourself! Now, 
Tom, you think a good deal of me, don’t you?” 

“You know I do.” 

“And you want me to marry the man of my choice 
when I do marry, don’t you?” 

“Yes, if you marry the one I think you ought to.” 

“How kind and self-sacrificing you are, Tom, but 
don’t you remember my telling you once that I did 
not intend to marry?” 

“Yes, but I was sure you would get over that. You 
are too nice a girl to be an old maid.” 

“Thanks, Tom; that is a compliment. Let me 
show you Mr. Gregory’s picture,” and with that she 
went to the mantel and brought me a cabinet photo- 
graph of a very handsome man. “What do you think, 
Tom? Isn’t he nice looking?” 

“Yes, he has a handsome face, and a very good face, 
but I wish he had a call to some other field of labor.” 

“It is not like you to be selfish, — but, must you 
go?” 

“Yes, I think I might as well. I guess the last 
prop has gone from under me.” 

“Well, if you must, but you must promise me that 
you will come and see me again before you leave 
town. Now promise.” 

“All right, I promise; for I could not refuse you 
anything.” And with that I left her. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


277 


It was nearly three o’clock when I arrived at the 
hotel, and as I entered the office I found Mr. Chace 
in animated conversation with no other than Mr. 
Gregory. I tried to avoid them, but it was of no use. 
Mr. Chace called me over and introduced me ; and I 
was obliged to grasp the hand of the man who had 
asked to marry Miss Betty. Mr. Gregory was an in- 
teresting talker, and as I sat there and listened to him 
I felt that I could have no chance where he was in 
the race. I was anxious to have him go, as I .wanted 
to talk with Mr. Chace myself. When he did get up 
to go he shook hands with us both and asked how 
long we were to be in town. Mr. Chace told him that 
we proposed to stay a few days, and at that he said : 
‘T should be most happy to have you both call at 
the parsonage, and,” turning to Mr. Chace, “we could 
then finish this little talk we have started, and I as- 
sure you my wife would be glad to hear your views on 
the subject, as she has expressed herself very much 
on the same lines.” 

With this he left us, and I must say I was in a very 
unsettled frame of mind. 

“What is the matter, Tom?” said Mr. Chace, as I 
stood watching the retreating form of Mr. Gregory 
as he went down the steps of the hotel. 

‘T really don’t know, Mr. Chace, but what did you 
understand him to say about his wife?” 


278 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


“Oh, I see how the wind blows now. That’s the 
Mr. Gregory of the letter, is it? Well, there does not 
seem to be any need of trouble in that direction, but 
are you sure that is the man?” 

“Yes, I am quite sure, unless he has a twin brother, 
for Miss Betty showed me his picture. The thing I 
cannot understand, however, is what she told me 
about his asking to marry her.” 

“It might seem strange, Tom, but did you ever 
think that perhaps he wanted to marry her just for 
the marriage fee? He is a minister, you know. The 
girl knows you are deeply in love with her, and knows 
also that she can go to any length with you, and 
her love of fun has led her to make it quite inter- 
esting for you.” 

“It is all very plain to me now, Mr. Chace, as far as 
Mr. Gregory’s wanting to marry her is concerned, 
and it may be only natural that Miss Betty should 
want to have a little fun with me, a sort of cat and 
mouse affair, as it were, but after all it only proves 
one thing, and that is that she cannot love me and 
make me as miserable as she is doing now.” 

“It may be she is only testing you, Tom. Some 
girls have a peculiar idea of how much a fellow ought 
to stand to prove his love.” 

The next day I went down to Mr. Dean’s office, 
thinking I would find out how I stood there. 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 279 

Mr. Dean was glad to see me, and we talked of various 
things before I got up sufficient courage to come to 
the point. At last I said to him : ‘‘Mr. Dean, I want 
to talk seriously to you about Miss Betty. The truth 
is I want to marry her, and I am ready to prove to you 
that I can take care of her.” 

“You surprise me, Tom ; not that you love Betty 
and want to marry her, but that you should want it 
decided now. You are both young, and Betty knows 
that I do not want her to leave home for a long time 
yet. For a time I thought we were to keep her with 
us indefinitely, but that bubble burst. You see, Betty 
tried writing, and was quite carried away with it. She 
had some of her articles accepted, but of late every- 
thing has been returned, and she is quite discour- 
aged. You do not need to prove to me that you are 
able to take care of my daughter, for I know you 
are, and I am perfectly willing for you to marry her 
if you can get her to agree to it. And I will say this, 
Tom : Nothing would please me better than to have 
you marry her and come back to your old place with 
me. When I was married I did not have as good a 
situation as I am willing to offer you, and I know you 
well enough to know that if she did marry you, you 
would do your best to make her happy.” 

I thanked Mr. Dean for his good opinion of me, and 
feeling that he could make my path smoother, I said : 


280 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


^‘Then you are ready to assist me with her?” 
course, Tom ; but what can I do ?” 

^'You can tell her what you have told me. I am 
sure it would have the desired effect.” 

"‘Poor Tom ; what you do not know about women 
would fill a big book. Why, my dear boy, that is the 
very thing which would ruin the whole affair. Now, 
I will tell you something which may interest you. I 
know she thinks a good deal of you, and although I 
cannot tell you why I think so, I believe she is more 
in love with you than she ever was with anyone else. 
But as for my helping you, Tom, I could not do a 
thing. All I have to say is, go ahead and win, for 
I am satisfied that you will never settle down again 
with me until you have settled this question.” 

I walked back to the hotel, and I smiled as I 
thought how sure Mr. Dean seemed to be that I 
was soon coming back to work for him. I told Mr. 
Chace of my talk with Mr. Dean, and he made me re- 
peat a good part of it, and after I had finished he sat 
without speaking for an hour. When he did get 
ready to tell his thoughts, he said: “Tom, you can 
never win that girl until she gets ready to be won, 
and in my opinion, the best thing you can do is to 
let her alone for a while; but as I have never seen 
her, suppose you take me up there this evening.” 

“I can do better than that, for when I was there 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 281 

yesterday Mrs. Dean invited me to come up to sup- 
per to-night and bring my friend, and as it will soon 
be time, we had better get ready. I came near for- 
getting it.’* 

That afternoon about six o’clock found Mr. Chace 
and myself at the home of Mr. Dean. Supper was not 
quite ready and Mr. Dean had not arrived, so we had 
time for a nice visit with Mrs. Dean and Betty. Mr. 
Chace was very much taken with both of them, and 
owned after we got back to the hotel that the girl 
was worth trying for. While at the Dean’s we talked 
of everything in a general way, and although we 
stayed through the evening, I did not have a chance 
to see Betty alone. The subject of our stay at Coldeck 
was touched upon, and I remarked that I had seen all 
of my old friends and was now ready to go back to 
Illinois and see my father and mother, as I had not 
seen them for almost a year and a half. 

‘To-morrow,” said I, “we are to leave Coldeck, 
possibly never to return.” I looked at Betty when I 
said this, and she said: 

“What ! so soon, Tom ? I thought you were going 
to make us a long visit.” If she were disturbed at 
my announcement, she did not show it. When I 
shook hands with her at parting, I said : “I will come 
back if you want me. Miss Betty,” but she only an- 
swered : 


282 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


‘T do not hire the men at the lumber yard, Tom. 
You will have to talk to Papa about that,” and with 
this we left them. 

As we walked to the hotel that night I asked Mr. 
Chace what he thought of my chances. The only an- 
swer he gave me was that he thought Mr. Dean would 
hire me or Mrs. Dean would adopt me, but as for the 
girl he was puzzled, and although she was worth try- 
ing for, he was not able after seeing her to advise me. 

We left Coldeck the next day and in due time ar- 
rived at Hardacre Corners. How strangely familiar 
the old place looked ! We arrived there in the after- 
noon, and had our things taken to the hotel; then I 
went down to Dad’s office. I haven’t thought of him 
as “Dad” for some time, but as I come back here there 
seems to be no other name that fits him so well. As 
I walked into the office Dad was having some words 
with one of the Walker boys. The first I heard was 
Joe Walker saying: “If you weren’t so old, I would 
thump you once just for luck.” 

“Thump me, Joe,” said I, “if you are fond of 
thumping.” 

He tried to accept my invitation, but his thump did 
not land ; mine did, however, and in less time than it 
takes to tell it, Mr. Joe Walker was doubled up under 
the desk. He crawled out and stopping just long 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 283 

enough to own that he had barked up the wrong tree, 
he left us. 

Well, Dad, said I, ^^you seem to be short a hand 
around here.” 

'Tt^s a wonder you had not found that out a long 
time ago.” 

'^Did Henry Burdette pay you some money for 
me?” 

'‘Yes; he paid me seventy-five dollars. Is that 
what you came after?” 

^^No ; I don^t need the money just now, but I was 
going through this section of the country, and 
thought I would just drop off and see Ma for a few 
minutes.” 

'^All right. Don’t overstay your leave.” 

With this for a parting shot from my Dad, I went 
up to the house to see Ma. Of course she was glad 
to see me and had lots of questions to ask me about 
my journey and the “iar west,” as she called it. Ma 
tried to make me say that I would come home and 
work with Dad again, but I did not make any prom- 
ises. It almost broke her heart when I told her I 
could not stay at home that night and that I must go 
back to my friend at the hotel. She wanted me to 
bring my friend to the house, but I knew too much 
for that. I was bound that I would not give Dad a 
chance to say that I was sponging on him. I would 


284 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


not even stay to supper, but got away just before Dad 
came in. 

That night I wrote a long letter to Betty, in which 
I told some truths, and some things that perhaps 
would not be considered exactly true, but ‘‘All’s fair 
in love and war,” you know. 


LETTER NUMBER THIRTY. 


Coldeck, Nebraska. 

The next morning after writing you my last letter 
from Hardacre, as Mr. Chace and I were eating our 
breakfast about eight o’clock, who should walk in but 
Deacon Clingstone, my dear old Dad. He found we 
were in the dining-room, and came right in where 
we were. When he saw Mr. Chace he hesitated a 
moment, but he braced up again and came to our 
table. 

“Look here, Tom,” said he, “what do you mean by 
acting this way ? Do you want the people of this town 
to think that I can’t afford to keep you and your 
friend over night?” 

“Deacon Clingstone,” I said, “I don’t care a hang 
what people think. I am of age and have money 
enough to pay my way without sponging on my rela^ 
tives, and I propose to do it. I know you are my 
father, and possibly are supposed to take some in- 
terest in me, but do you?” 

The old man smiled, came up and patted me on the 
back, and said: “You are a chip of the old block. 


286 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


Tom. I knew it was in you and would come out some 
day if you got a few good jolts.” He walked out of 
the dining-room and the hotel without saying an- 
other word. 

Mr. Chace said : ‘Torn, if you knew how to handle 
Miss Betty as well as you do your father, what a 
snap you would have.” 

In my last letter I told you about writing to Miss 
Betty, but did not tell you what I wrote. The fact is, 
I had become desperate, as you will see by the letter, 
a copy of which I send you: 

“My Dear Miss Betty: — I have some news to tell 
you which I am sure will please you very much. 
When we left Coldeck we went direct to Omaha, 
where we stopped a couple of days. Mr. Chace has 
friends there, and among them we found some Chris- 
tian Science people. I was very much interested in 
their manner of treating disease. In fact, according 
to them, there is no disease other than that of the 
mind, there being no such thing as matter; there- 
fore, there can be no disease of the material body. 
It is an interesting belief, and one that seems 
to be very plain to anyone who understands it, but 
rather complicated to a fellow who for so many years 
has carried the idea that if another chap hit him in 
the nose it hurt. We went to one of their meetings, 
but there must have been a good many rank out- 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


287 


siders there, for when they had silent prayer there was 
so much coughing and sneezing that it lost its 
solemnity. After the meeting was over and Mr. 
Chace and I had returned to our hotel, we had a 
good talk on the subject, and I have decided that we 
have made discovery. After he had been talking a 
while, Mr. Chace said: ‘The whole thing is wonder- 
ful, Tom, as you say, but tell me what particular 
point makes the most impression on you?’ T have 
been thinking, Mr. Chace, that perhaps I can find in 
this religion a way out of my own difficulty. I am 
very much in love with Miss Betty. You say love is 
a disease, and if there is any disease that is of the 
mind, this certainly is one of them. Now, what I 
propose to do is to take treatment for this disease,’ 
‘But how do you propose to go to work at it?’ said 
Mr. Chace. ‘There was a young woman in the 
church,’ said I, ‘who was pointed out to us as a 
healer. Do you remember? She was quite young, 
tall, slim, and a decided brunette. She had a very 
sweet face, and I am sure it would be easy to describe 
my case to her.’ ‘A good idea,’ said Mr. Chace, ‘and 
I should say she would be the very one. She has 
large, beautiful eyes — hazel, I think they are, and if I 
am not mistaken she knows how to use them, too.’ 

^^The next day I called on the healer and stated 
my case. At first she seemed to think I was making 


TOM CLiNGSTONE^S LETTERS. 

fun of her, but after a time I convinced her that I 
was in dead earnest. She agreed with Mr. Chace that 
love was a disease of the imagination, and she thought 
she could cure me. At all events, she claimed that 
she could change the form of my disease, so that in- 
stead of loving someone who would not give me a 
hearing, my love could be changed from the present 
object of my affection to someone who would be 
more susceptible to my advances. Why,’ said she, 
^you are not at all a bad looking fellow ; you say you 
have no very bad habits, and if you had money, I am 
not so sure but that I could love you myself.’ That’s 
just it,’ said I, ^all you girls want is money, and if I 
were sure this question of money was what stood be- 
tween Miss Betty and myself, my disease would be 
cured already.’ Then I told the healer about a young 
lady up in Hardacre whom I had known all my life. 
‘She is homely as a mud fence,’ said I, ‘but if you can 
change a fellow’s affection from one girl to another 
and make the fellow satisfied, you just change my love 
for Miss Betty to Miss Mary Calkins, and I will be 
married in less than a week.’ With this she com- 
menced treatment. She sat down and took my hands 
in hers — she had nice, soft hands, and said: ‘Now, 
Mr. Clingstone, in being foolish enough to love Miss 
Betty, as you call her, you have worked yourself up 
to an uncomfortable state of mind, and it is all your 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


289 


own fault; there is no need of it. The disease you 
call love is simply a disease of the mind. You have 
imagined that Miss Betty has a handsome face — mere 
imagination, for, as there is nothing material, there 
can be no handsome faces. You think Miss Calkins 
has a very plain face, when in fact there is no face 
there; you just imagine it. You think you can have 
more influence over the mind of Miss Calkins than 
you can over the mind of Miss Betty; therefore, all 
lyou have to do is to shut Miss Betty out of your 
mind. Go at once to the house of Miss Calkins, and 
kneeling before her, say : ^Miss Calkins, you are the 
most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I feel that 
my happiness will never be complete unless you ac- 
cept me for a husband.’ If she is as homely as you 
say she is, she will believe every word you say. You 
may be obliged to have several more treatments after 
you are married, but if you come to me I will give you 
a special rate.’ 

'T know you will be pleased. Miss Betty, to know 
that I have taken this treatment, and that hereafter 
if we should happen to meet we could converse with- 
out your feeling that I was liable to say something 
unpleasant to you. Your friend and well-wisher, Tom 
Clingstone.” 

The next day after Dad called on us at the hotel, Mr. 
Chace left for New York. He wanted me to go with 


290 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


him, but something seemed to tell me to stay in Hard- 
acre, which I did. Soon after this a letter came from 
Miss Betty, in which she wrote : 

''My Dear Tom: — Your letter at hand, and I have 
read it with much interest. I have heard something 
of Christian Science before, but I never heard of its 
being used in the manner you mention, and yet it must 
be in a measure true. However, I think you have 
things mixed a little. Sometimes we meet people who 
appear very plain to us at first, but as we become bet- 
ter acquainted with them and find their good quali- 
ties and what charming companions they are, their 
faces seem to brighten until we can no longer bring 
ourselves to believe that they are plain. So my advice 
to you is not to put too much faith in Christian Sci- 
ence, but rather depend on yourself. If Miss Calkins 
has a sweet disposition, is educated, refined and a 
charming conversationalist, her plain face will never 
bother you; but, if she has none of these qualities it 
will take more than Christian Science to disabuse 
your mind that that same face which is opposite you 
twenty-one times a week at the table was not run in 
a very nice mould. You have often said, Tom, that 
you would do anything for me, and I want to ask 
you to do two things for me. I feel that you will not 
refuse me. I want you to come here and work for 
father. He has asked me to write to you and ask 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


291 


you to come. If you are already married you can just 
as well live here. If you are not married, don’t fool 
with Christian Science. Use a little common sense 
and I will help you. There is a young lady here who 
often asks for you and who I know would be glad to 
have you return here. She is known as the belle of 
the village, and I am sure you could have her for the 
asking. You are too nice a man to throw yourself 
away on anyone, for the best can be had for the ask- 
ing. You know who I mean ; it is Miss Darling, and 
from what I know of her, she is all that a man could 
ask. Besides that, you who always like excitement, 
could have a little fun, for Joe Saunders is in love 
with Miss Darling, and has been for the past ten 
years, if it were possible to love at so tender an age, 
and you would have the satisfaction of cutting the 
other fellow out. I shall expect you as soon as you 
can get here after receiving this, as father is anxious 
to have you back, and I will assure you that if you 
come without a wife I will see that you are provided 
with one as soon as it can be done and have all things 
in good form. Your friend and well-wisher, Betty 
Dean.” 

After reading Miss Betty’s letter I pondered over 
it for a long time, and at the end of the ponder I was 
as much in the dark as ever. I decided to go at once 
to Coldeck, which I did, but not until I had told Dad 


292 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


that Mr. Dean had sent for me to come back and take 
charge of his business. Dad did not say much, but 
I could see that he was pleased. I had wired Mr. 
Dean that I was coming, and he met me at the train. 
He insisted that I should go with him to his house, 
which I did, but I told him that I thought my chances 
with Miss Betty would be better if I went somewhere 
else. Mrs. Dean received me cordially, and Miss 
Betty was kind. I did not get a chance to say much 
to Miss Betty, however, that day, but when the time 
did come she asked me where my wife was. She was 
so cool about it that I thought I would not be caught 
napping, so I said: ‘T received your letter just be- 
fore I got ready to propose to Miss Calkins, and I de- 
cided to take your advice and come to Coldeck to 
marry Miss Darling.’’ 

I watched her closely when I said this, and if she 
were surprised she did not show it, but said : am 

glad you came, for father needs you, and I am sure 
you will be better pleased with a nice looking wife 
like Miss Darling than you would with a freak such 
as you wrote about.” 

The next night after this talk there was a little 
company up at the house. It was gotten up for my 
benefit, and Miss Darling was invited. We had music, 
both vocal and instrumental, and enjoyed ourselves 
generally. When it came time for the guests to go 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


293 


Miss Betty managed it so that I would have to offer 
to go home with Miss Darling. We had a pleasant 
walk, and I found her a pleasant companion. I also 
found that she could talk better when she got onto 
the subject of Joe Saunders. At last I said: “Why 
don’t you marry Joe Saunders, Miss Darling?” 

“For two reasons,” said my companion; “first, I 
have known him s© long that he seems like a brother 
to me ; and the second reason is, he never asked me.” 

“Suppose he did ask you, what would you say?” 

“What a question for you to ask, Mr. Clingstone ! 
How could I tell what I would do if he should ask 
me?” 

“What would you say if I should ask you?” 

“I should say ‘No,’ for I know that you are in love 
with Miss Betty, and I would ruin your life and break 
her heart if I should accept you, for if I am any judge, 
she is in love with you.” 

“Do you mean that. Miss Darling?” 

“Of course I do. I have only been real well ac- 
quainted with her since you have been away these 
last few months, but I think I know what I am talk- 
ing about.” 

“Say, Miss Darling, would you mind if I should 
kiss you once ?” 

“You kiss me! Have you gone crazy? What do 
you mean?” 


294 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


'‘I have to do something to keep from bursting, and 
I don’t know of anything better than to kiss the one 
who gives me such good news.” 

^'Better wait until you find it is true, and if it is, 
you may kiss me, but it must be when she is with us.” 

We had quite a long walk before us, and I told her 
all about my troubles and asked her advice. ^‘Well, 
Tom, ”said she, — “I feel that I can call you Tom, we 
are such good friends, — I will give you just one piece 
of advice: No girl of spirit cares to feel that she is 
easily won, and that kind of a girl never likes to find 
that the man she loves can be easily turned down.” 

^‘Thank you, Mattie, you are a brick; and if I can 
ever lengthen your life line I will go a long way out 
of my beat to do it.” 

I left her at her father’s door and started back. I 
walked slowly, for I knew that the Deans would all 
be in bed when I got back. I had a feeling all at once 
that someone was watching me, and the next moment 
I ran into Joe Saunders. 

‘'Hello, Joe,” said I, “aren’t you out late?” 

“Not any later than you are, you big brute.” This 
sentence made me wake up to the situation. Here 
was the man who loved Mattie Darling, and my sym- 
pathies went out to him at once. Then he added : “I 
know I am not as good a man as you are physically. 
If I were I would lick you to a finish.” 


295 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 

“Why didn’t you shoot me, Joe ?” 

Because I am no coward, and it is only a coward 
who takes the advantage of a man in a fight.” 

Right you are, Joe, you are no coward; for a 
coward who knows that I could lick him in two min- 
utes would not face me as you have done and say 
what you have to me; but, Joe, I am your friend, and 
I can prove it to you.” 

“Oh, of course, I suppose you can claim to be my 
friend now that you have won the girl. You would 
m.ake a friend of anyone as you feel to-night.” 

“You are right there, Joe, but you are wrong in 
the main. You think there is only one girl in Coldeck, 
and I think the same, but it is not the same girl.” 

“What do you mean, Tom?” 

“I mean just what I say. You have gone daffy on 
Mattie Darling, and my sweetheart lives on the other 
side of the town.” 

“Hold on there, Tom. Don’t play any tricks on 
me,” and he grabbed me by the arm as he said this, 
and tried in the darkness to search my face to see if 
I meant what I said. 

“If this is true, Tom, why did you walk so leisurely 
with Miss Darling, and why was your conversation 
so earnest that you did not observe that you were 
being followed?” 

“Well, to tell you the truth, Joe, I was telling her 


296 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


my story and asking her advice. And say, Joe, it has 
just occurred to me that I might give you a little ad- 
vice, too. Will you accept it from a friend who would 
like to do you a favor?” 

'‘Yes, Tom, I will ; for I can see that you are honest 
with me.” 

"All right then, here it is : No girl of spirit cares 
to feel that she is easily won, and that kind of a girl 
never likes to find that the man she loves can be 
easily turned down. Say, Joe, did you ever ask Miss 
Darling to marry you?” 

"Well, not exactly; but then, she knows how I feel 
about it.” 

"Don’t take too much for granted, Joe. If you 
don’t ask her within the next twenty-four hours and 
make her consent, someone ought to take her away 
from you.” With this I bid him good-night, and we 
parted. 

I had decided that the next day I should settle mat- 
ters between Miss Betty and myself, but man pro- 
poses, and woman isn’t always there to hear it. The 
fact is, I did not see Miss Betty the next day. I did 
see Joe Saunders, though, the next evening, and he 
was the happiest man I ever saw. 

"Tom,” said he, "I want to ask your forgiveness 
for thinking that you were even inclined to cut me 
out. You are the best friend I have outside of Mat- 


TOM CLINGSTOME’S LETTERS. 


297 


tie, and she thinks you are just all right. She told 
me to tell you that there were times when one could 
strengthen a life line if they did not have a chance 
to lengthen it. I don’t know what she meant, but 
she said you would know; and she also said that 
whatever small secret you two had between you, there 
was no occasion for me to trouble myself about.” 

He was so bound up in his own case that he did 
not think of mine, and I was just as well pleased, for 
I had nothing to tell. 

The next day was Sunday, and I felt that my time 
had come. I went to church with the family in the 
morning and started to go again in the afternoon, but 
when I found Miss Betty was not going, I returned 
to the house. She seemed very much surprised when 
I returned, which gave me a little set-back at first, 
but I recovered after a while, and have since wondered 
if her surprise was not a little bit of good acting. 

''Oh, Tom, is that you ?” and she threw up both her 
hands, "I thought you had gone to church.” 

"I changed my mind when I found you were to stay 
at home,” said I, "for I wanted to talk with you.” 

"So do I, Tom. I am dying to know how you came 
out with Mattie Darling.” 

"Oh, I came out all right, and Mattie is somebody 
else’s darling now. That is one thing I came back to 
tell you.” 


298 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


I watched her and thought I detected an anxious 
look on her face, but I was not just sure. 

*'Yes, Mattie is to be married soon, and of course 
you will be invited to the wedding.” 

''Shall I take this for an invitation?” By the way 
she said this I was sure she knew I was playing with 
her, but to carry the thing a little further, I said : 

"Hardly ; you see the ladies do the inviting.” 

This time I was sure I could detect a little ner- 
vousness, and thinking I had gone far enough, I said : 

"Don’t you think we had better stop this foolish- 
ness? You ought to know that Miss Mattie Darling 
is to marry Joe Saunders, and I will give you another 
piece of news: I am going to marry you.” I took 
her in my arms and kissed her. She neither resisted 
nor returned my embrace, but when she was allowed 
to, she said: 

"As long as you have taken the whole thing into 
your hands, perhaps you will tell me when my wed- 
ding is to come off?” 

"You can set your own time, provided it is not too 
far distant.” 

"Then we will have the wedding, provided Father 
is willing, as soon as you can build a little home and 
furnish it.” 

"Then you really love me?” 

"Yes, Tom, you dear old clumsy, and have since 
the day you saved my life.” 


TOM CLINGSTONE’S LETTERS. 


299 


“Then it is all settled, and according to your terms 
we should have been married a month ago.” 

“What do you mean, Tom?” 

“It was all of a month ago that I gained your 
father’s consent, and I am not the poor man you 
think, but am worth a quarter of a million in cool 
cash.” 

I expected to hear her laugh with joy, but instead, 
and for the second time in my life, I saw her in tears. 
Well, girls are funny, anyway, aren’t they? 











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